


On Set

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: When Bulma & Vegeta hit rock bottom, an unusual job offer might just be their ticket out of poverty.Real world, no saiyans, totally crack fic AU. By stupidoomdoodles & ladyvegeets.





	1. Beginnings (illustrated)

**AN** : **WARNING!!!** This is ‘crack fic’. It’s ridiculous. It’s not believable. The characters might be a little out of character. There is no canon here. This is sheer, dumb fun and pure sin. We cordially invite you to join us, but it’s cool if this aint your jam ^_^

This story is the brainchild of **stupidoomdoodles** and myself. I made the (genius) mistake of recommending “Zack and Miri Make a Porno” to her, and this story is a result of some crazy ideas we discussed, loosely born from that movie and the desire to have Vegeta and Bulma doing porn together, because we are fucking shameless. And we are NOT sorry. 

(But really guys, don’t take this AU seriously. We don’t. It’s our ‘relief’ story, when we need to just be fucking ridiculous for a moment, haha).

* * *

 ...art by **[Stupidoomdoodles](http://ladyvegeets.tumblr.com/post/155965071327/on-set-it-begins)**

 

**On Set**

**-01 Beginnings-**

  

The bar was awful. It was hot, and crowded, the music oppressively loud, the sound waves attempting to suffocate the patrons from sheer pressure alone. Bulma was nursing the beginnings of a headache at the bar, irritated at the place, at her empty glass that she couldn’t afford to refill if she wanted to have hot water next month, and at the people around her who apparently had it all fucking together and didn’t need a roommate when she so desperately did.

Living on her own was turning out to be far more troublesome than she had bargained for. She had always known, in an abstract kind of way, that she had come from money, but it wasn’t until recently, when she had fled to this city to stretch the wings of her independence, that she realized just how much her parents had done for her, and how woefully unaware she was of balancing a checkbook. And Bulma hadn’t counted on not being able to bank a steady job. She was a genius after all, but she was learning the hard way that her managers didn’t find her temper as cute as her parents and childhood friends had. She got laid off that week, and didn’t have any leads on another job she deemed worthy of her skills. She just needed to find someone to help pay the bills, someone to help keep her afloat for a little longer until she could land another gig. Was that too much to ask for? A chance to weather out this slump before she was forced to return to home, tail between her legs, back to her insufferable parents’ place to spend her evenings staring up at her bedroom ceiling, pretending she couldn’t hear the wild orgies her folks got up to with their swingers’ club. She would do anything to keep that from happening.

Bulma shuddered at the memory and seriously considered ordering another drink. Who really needed hot water anyway?

No, fuck. She would never land a roommate if she couldn’t even offer them a hot shower. Damnit. With every person who turned her down, with every, “Sorry, I don’t know anyone looking for a roomie,”, she was getting more and more desperate, and more and more drunk, or had been until the cash had somehow up and vanished from her purse, and she was left with only her credit card that she wasn’t drunk enough to start using. Yet.

Bulma looked around the throngs of people and came to the bitter conclusions that tonight was going to be a bust. She didn’t know anyone here, and while that idea had excited her when she first moved to this city, ripe and eager for a challenge, a new start, a grand adventure away from her recent break up and overly-gregarious family, now it only depressed her. She was alone, and no one here gave two shits about her. 

Oh good, she was getting morose. Fucking fantastic. 

Bulma sighed, picking up her clutch as she hopped off her bar stool, shimmying her skirt down her thighs before trying to cut a straight line towards the exit without stumbling too much. She would just have to go home, sleep off a hang over, and apply herself all the more on the morrow. That’s all there was to it. No need to be feeling sorry for-

“Hoooooo babe, where you going in a hurry?” Someone slurred, coming up right behind her, their breath uncomfortably hot on her neck and stinking of liquor.

With a narrowed gaze, Bulma looked at the offender. He was quite tall and well built, good looking. Under different circumstances Bulma might have been interested, but she wasn’t in the mood, and didn’t find his tactics charming. She gave him a very obvious once over and then locked eyes with the drunk. “Not interested,” she said clearly, so he would understand. She turned and continued walking off.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a drink,” the drunk man insisted, following at her heels.

“I said no.”

“Just one drink!”

Wow, was this guy for real? Bulma was so done with this fucking dive. She kept walking, the exit just a few more paces away, hoping that if her cold shoulder treatment didn’t work, that at least exiting the bar would deter the man.

“Hey, you goddamn bitch, I’m talking to you!” the guy shouted, and just as she felt the cool outside air against her face, a vice like grip latched onto her slender wrist and tugged Bulma back.

Startled, and ready to let loose a fountain of frustration that she had bubbling up inside her all night, Bulma turned around. But before she could rip the guy a proverbial new hole, someone else intervened. It all happened so fast. One minute the drunk guy was holding her, the next he was doubled over in pain, a new man in a black t-shirt and spiky hair standing over him, flexing his fingers, shaking out his knuckles after having dealt a rather fast and devastating punch. The new guy wasn’t much taller than she was, but boy he was _built_ , and he wore the face of someone you would cross the street to avoid. He picked the drunk up and, easy as you please, threw the asshole out on the street with a satisfying sound of flesh hitting pavement. 

Bulma stood, rooted to the spot, stunned, and a little in awe if she was being honest. “Wow, nice work,” she said.

The guy in black glanced back at her, his face impassive. He gave her a cursory glance over, almost disinterested. “…You okay?”

She nodded and took a step towards him to better watch the drunk guy pick himself up the pavement and stumble off down the street. 

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath as she watched him leave.

The guy next to her grunted in agreement. Bulma gave him a sidelong look, taking in his features. He looked serious. No, that actually wasn’t quite right. What was the word she was looking for… Bored? Apathetic? She had never seen anyone so blasé about beating someone up before. Still, underneath that surly expression were strong features. Definitely handsome. “Um, thank you, by the way,” she said.

He gave her a one shouldered shrug. “That’s the job.”

“Huh?”

His brow rose, and he turned to face her, pointing at his chest. That’s when Bulma noticed for the first time the bright white letters printed on his shirt.

_BOUNCER._

Oh, well, duh. Some genius she was. 

“Ah,” she said, embarrassed. “Still, thanks. You handled him pretty well.”

The bouncer gave another shrug, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the door frame, his dark, unreadable eyes watching people come and go, but always his gaze flicked back to her. “I’ve had practice,” he offered.

Bulma arched a brow. “Oh?” she replied, moving to his side to get out of the doorway, keeping him company. “Been a bouncer for long?”

“Tch,” he replied, his brows pulling down unhappily. “Just a week.”

“Like it?”

Another shrug. “No. But I need the money.”

Bulma felt the blossoming of an idea forming, her fingers tightening over her clutch in excitement. “Really? Does bouncing pay well?”

“Fuck no… But I don’t get arrested when I beat people up here.”

Bulma arched a brow, but held back any questions. The less she knew about why he was beating people up elsewhere, the better. Besides, she was no stranger to men with a rebellious streak. In fact, that was really working in his favor because she could respect a person who knew how to handle themselves. She lived in such a shitty neighborhood; having a bouncer as a roommate would certainly help her sleep at night. “Yeah,” she said, trying to sound casual and not too excited as she put her plan into action. “For such a shit hole, this city is really expensive. I’m looking for a roommate myself to try and save some money. I don’t suppose you know anyone who might be interested?” she asked, giving him a sly look.

He met her gaze, his face completely unreadable. It was like trying to read a brick wall. “… No.”

 _Pop!_ The bubble of excitement within Bulma burst. Man, she had such a good feeling about this guy… She tried to put on a brave smile. “Ah, well, you and the rest of the bar, haha,” she joked lamely. This night was a total wipeout. Bulma sighed and pushed away from the guy. “Anyway, I should get home. Enjoy the rest of your night. Knock ‘em dead, killer,” she offered, giving the man a small fist-bump to the chest as she headed out into the cold evening air.

He scowled at the contact and watched her leave, his eyes impassive. Bulma walked down the street. Compelled for reasons she couldn’t place, she looked over her shoulder, and sure enough, found the bouncer was still watching her. She gave him a wave that he didn’t return, and he looked away. Rolling her eyes, Bulma headed home.  

* * *

~xox~

 

The night was cold. He hadn’t thought to buy a warmer coat, hadn’t thought he would need one. Then again, he hadn’t thought they would discover he was sleeping in the backroom of the bar, and hadn’t planned on being fired for it, had he?

Fuck.

Vegeta looked up from his spot on the sidewalk at the night sky. If the stars were out, he couldn’t see them. The city lights and air pollution left the sky black and empty, and he tried not to draw any conclusions about how it might reflect his own mood. He pulled his beat-up duffle bag closer between his legs, and pressed a hand over his face, resisting the urge to swear audibly. 

What the fuck was he going to do now? He had no resume, no references, and no reputable skills that he could put towards any respectable job. He had barely been out from under Frieza’s thumb for two weeks, and already his life was falling apart. At this rate he was going to have to resort back to cracking skulls, robbing gas stations and worse, and he really, _really_ didn’t want to have to do that shit anymore if he could help it. He was better than that, better than being someone’s pawn. Vegeta wanted something more, and if he couldn’t have it better, he at least wanted to struggle and bleed and scrape by on his own fucking terms and not someone else’s. He thought living on the streets would make it easy to live in the ‘real’ world, but reality was proving to be a cold, merciless bitch. 

People walked passed him, giving him a wide berth on the pavement as they went to and from the various bars that lined the street. Vegeta ignored them all, wallowing in self-pity and wondering if he should blow the little cash he had for a motel, or suck it up and find a park bench somewhere to spend the frigid night. While he contemplated those two choices, a pair of slender legs passed him. They slowed, then stopped. Then they turned around and came to stand right in front of him. Vegeta was about to tell the legs to go fuck off when he heard a feminine voice address him from above.

“ _Bouncer_?”

Vegeta removed the hand from his face and looked up, his eyes going wide at seeing familiar blue eyes and hair. The woman from the bar. Yes, he recognized her instantly. Vegeta would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of her once or twice since their encounter. She was, after all, the first person he had exchanged more than two words with in weeks, hell, in months. _That_ was going to leave an impression, even if her unique complexion didn’t.

The woman looked him over, taking in his defeated demeanor and scuffed up bag, and a moment later she was sitting down next to him like they were long lost friends. He tensed, but all she did was rest her chin on her knees and look up at the sky.

“So,” she said, her tone commiserating. 

Vegeta felt his shoulders ease, the tension leaving him. Something about her slipped past his guard and made him feel like it was okay to be miserable around her. Perhaps because he sensed she had her own misery about her, and the idea of being miserable with someone like her didn’t disgust him like he thought it would. Vegeta didn’t reply to her, but he didn’t tell her to fuck off either. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was far prettier than most, a real down-to-earth beauty, only her unusual coloring gave her something of an ethereal quality, especially in the glow of the street lamps. She was all pouty lips, a stubborn chin, aquamarine eyes a man could drown in, and short hair an unusual eggshell blue. Yeah, she wasn’t easily forgotten.

“I guess it’s not ‘bouncer’ anymore then, huh?” she asked after a while.

“… No.”

“Got a place to stay?”

“…No…”

“Hmm… Well, if you don’t mind cold showers, I’m still looking for a roommate,” she admitted cheerily.

“Cold showers?” he asked, though it didn’t matter. Like he gave a fuck what kind of showers she had. Whatever she was offering was far better than the options he currently had. But he asked regardless because he didn’t want to sound too fucking eager or grateful that she had renewed her offer. Ever since she had left his bar a few nights ago, Vegeta wondered if he had made a mistake turning her down. He thought he had a good thing going at the bar, and he wasn’t about to trust some broad because she was pretty and nice to talk to. He didn’t trust anyone. But that all quickly changed, and now he had no job or home, so forced between taking her up on her offer, or slumming it on a park bench, Vegeta knew which way he would be leaning, showers be damned.

“Ah, well… I may have blown the gas money on drinks, trying to find a roommate…” she admitted sheepishly.

“Tch,” he groused. He shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling out several crumpled notes of various denominations and handed them to her. “That’s what I’ve got on me. I prefer my showers hot.”

“Oh… Of course. Thanks,” she said, giving him a bewildered look, but she didn’t try to feign politeness and refuse the cash. She counted the money, pocketing most of it before waving a ten between them and nudging his shoulder. “I don’t live far. Wanna get a six pack on the way home?”

“Fuck yes,” he agreed. They stood and he swung his duffle over his shoulder, his other hand in his pocket.

“Bulma,” she said, sticking out her hand towards him. He eyed it warily, grudgingly taking his hand from his pocket and giving her palm a shake.

“Vegeta.”

She smiled at him and he frowned, defensively. “This way, killer,” she said, breaking the handshake before she led him down the street. Following at her side, glaring balefully at anyone they passed, Vegeta let his new roommate take him to shelter.

 

* * *

~xox~

 

“God DAMNIT, VEGETA!”

He frowned, his brow furrowing in irritation at the voice that was becoming all too annoyingly familiar in his day to day life. He tried turning the volume on the TV up.

“Oh, no you fucking don’t!” Bulma snapped, stomping in from the bathroom in only a pair of underpants and a tank top. Braless. She marched up to the TV and turned it off at the wall, leaving his remote useless.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her from his place on the couch.

His steely gaze was returned with one of her own, a soggy toothbrush pointed at him. “The kitchen is a fucking mess!”

He didn’t have to glance over his shoulder at the kitchenette to confirm her statement. When wasn’t the kitchen a fucking mess? “I didn’t make it. I can’t even cook.”

“That’s… _EXACTLY_!” she fumed. “ _I_ cook. _You_ fucking _clean_!”

“Tch. Like hell,” he snarled back.

“Oh. Excuse me, your highness,” she snapped back. “Perhaps you’re too tired from your JOB to clean the dishes. Oh wait, that’s right, YOU DON’T HAVE ONE!” 

He felt his lip curl in in distaste and he looked away from her. His lack of employment was quickly becoming a sore point, all the more annoying for his inability to deny it. She was right. He was still unemployed, had been the entire month he had lived with her. The money given that first night was the only payment he had made towards their rent so far. Bulma seemed forgiving at first, after all, she hadn’t found work either. For someone so desperate, she was being incredibly picky about the ads she circled in the wanted section of the newspaper. “I’m over qualified for those,” she snarked when he pointed out some retail positions. But who was he to criticize? He was picky too, albeit for different reasons, trying to find work where the employers wouldn’t require a background check or history of employment, because no one was going to like the results of either of those. So if Bulma wanted to stick to her laurels and wait to find her perfect job, Vegeta could hardly fault her; it wasn’t his name on the lease they were going to default on, and it wasn’t him who had a modest (if dwindling) savings account or a credit card to use and hope it would be enough to float them into next month, before they had to resort to playing _Which Utility They Could Live Without,_ or, _Which Ramen Flavor They Should Buy In Bulk_. Not to mention, Bulma was likely not in the best of moods, having to cover his half of the expenses as well as her own. She had wanted a roommate to _help_ her financial situation, not make it worse. Vegeta suspected the only reason she hadn’t kicked him out yet was because she found him useful to have around for security reasons. Ironic, given his past, but he could understand her reasoning. She was only a tiny thing, easy bait, and she lived in a rough neighborhood, with rougher neighbors. On his third night staying with her, the people next door had gotten into some kind of row, screaming and throwing around furniture by the sounds of it. Bulma had pulled her legs up to her chest while she watched TV and tried not to look disturbed.

“Argh, for fucks sake! I can’t hear a thing with all that racket!” he grouched, futility turning up the TV.

Bulma nodded into her knees. “Yeah well… get used to it. It happens once or twice a week. I tried talking to them about it once, but they told me they’d _skull_ fuck me if I stuck my nose into their business again.”

He arched a brow at the colorful term, looking at her. That she didn’t meet his eyes, staring fixedly at the screen, told him she wasn’t exaggerating. They had actually threatened her. And it had worked.

His jaw clenched.

Without a word, he got up and left.

Shortly after, when he had seen to the noise next door, Vegeta stepped back into their apartment. Bulma was still huddled on the couch, staring at him with the widest blue eyes, her expression a mixture of fear and awe. She opened her mouth as if to question him, but then she closed it, thinking better of doing so. 

He broke her gaze, feeling awkward. “Beer?” he offered, going to the fridge.

“Only one left,” she replied softly. “You have it.”

He did. He took the can and sat back on the couch beside her. They didn’t speak the rest of the evening, but when she got up to go to bed, she gave him a quiet, “Thanks, Vegeta,” before closing her bedroom door.

And since then, he had been able to get away without having a job. For about a week. Then she started dropping hints. _Then_ she straight up told him he needed to get off his ass and contribute. Apparently, his looming, don’t-fuck-with-me presence and occasional tidying up only got him so far on a free ride. Sooner or later, Bulma’s good will towards him was going to run out. No doubt sooner if their escalating bickering was any telling sign.

“Don’t ignore me, Vegeta!” Bulma snapped at him, the toothbrush still waving furiously, wielded like a wand about to cast a curse. “Those dishes better be clean by the time I get home, or I’ll…” she hesitated, trying to think of an appropriate threat.

Vegeta felt his chest tighten, waiting, waiting for her to say she’d kick him out.

“…I’ll shove them up your _ass_.”

He snorted at the idle threat, trying to ignore the relief he felt. He lived to stay another day.

Bulma stomped back into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it bounced back open, but he refrained from looking. Instead he dug about in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He sifted through his contacts — it only took a second, he barely knew anyone — and pulled up a number. 

They answered on the fifth ring.

“Vegeta?” a gruff voice answered.

“Nappa,” Vegeta greeted back.

“Shiiit. Thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

“Well, _that_ sounds ominous,” Nappa drawled. “Hey. I heard you left?”

“Yeah.”

“Good for you. Doing okay?” Nappa asked, his question hitting awfully close to home because no, he really fucking wasn’t doing okay, was he?

Vegeta scowled, huffing. “Fan-fucking-tastic. You?”

“Eh, can’t complain. I’m seeing this woman-”

“Ugh, damnit. Don’t tell me that shit,” Vegeta snapped, feeling especially testy because he didn’t know how to broach the topic he wanted to. It bordered on asking for help, and he wasn’t particularly good at doing that. In fact, he never had done that, and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

“You asked,” Nappa pointed out.

“Tch.”

There was an awkward silence. Nappa sighed. “…You working?”

“…Was. Bouncing. Got fired though,” Vegeta admitted. He glanced over at the bathroom but Bulma was still preoccupied. He rubbed a hand over his face in agitation, let out a breath, and asked his question before he lost his nerve entirely. “I’m looking for a lead on work… if you have any…”

Nappa was silent for a moment. Finally, he replied, “Hmmm… If you were bouncing, I’m guessing you’re still in good shape, right?”

Vegeta scowled. “Yes?”

“Okay, well… I think Kame Studios is hiring. I can text you the address. It’ll be better if you go there in person so they can size you up.”

“Okay.”

There was another hesitation, then Nappa added. “You know that’s a porn company, right?”

Vegeta huffed, unconcerned. He didn’t care what they did so long as they were looking to hire muscle. Actually, it made sense that a porn studio would need more security. They probably got all sorts of weirdos lurking about trying to perv on the employees. “Just send me the goddamn address, Nappa.”

“Yeah, yeah… You’re welcome, asshole.”

“Tch.”

Vegeta got up and went to fetch a scrap of paper to write down the address Nappa texted over. As he did so, Bulma came out of the bathroom, dressed more appropriately than before. She gave the dirty kitchen a pointed glare, then turned it on him.

“ _What_ are you doing?” she asked in a haughty tone that clearly meant, _why aren’t you cleaning dishes_?

“Trying to get a goddamn job so you can stop fucking nagging me,” he snapped back.

She scoffed and snatched the paper out from under his pen.

“The _fuck_!” he roared at her.

“Kame Studios?” Bulma asked, unconcerned by his ire as she read the address, cocking her head to the side. Her mouth pinched thoughtfully. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Well unless you watch porn, it…” he trailed off, seeing the lightbulb of revelation go off inside her head. He sighed. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

She put a fist on her hip. “What? So I watch porn sometimes.” Of course she fucking would. “Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Really?” She gave him an assessing look, up and down. “Maybe you should. Then you wouldn’t be wound so tightly.”

Sneering, he snatched the address back out of her hand. “Thanks for the advice.” He held out his hand to her. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“So I can look up this address,” he replied, growing impatient. His own phone was the cheapest, shittiest little disposable cell he could get; it could call and text and even had Snake on it, but otherwise was a useless piece of shit. Bulma’s phone was fancy and had the internet, and he would need it to find this Kame Studios.

“Get lost, you can’t have my phone,” she replied, clearly in one of her difficult moods. Great, the bitch was still pissed about the kitchen, wasn’t she?

“Bulma,” he growled, his voice low as he struggled to remain calm. “If you _don’t_ give me your phone, I can’t _find_ this fucking place, and then I _can’t_ get a job and _can’t_ _give you_ any rent money.” He hoped spelling it out for her would make her more agreeable.

Bulma ignored him, walking to the front door to grab her jacket and slip it on. “I am _not_ giving you my phone. But I’ll come with you.”

“…What?”

She smiled at him and shrugged, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I’ve always wanted to see what goes on behind the scenes at a porn studio. Should be fun.”

“No,” he told her clearly.

Bulma’s eyes squinted ever so slightly, the threat of a tantrum about to arise. “Why not?”

“It’s a job site, not a goddamn sideshow. You’re going to blow my interview before I even take it.”

“Oh please,” Bulma rolled her eyes. “You’re going to do that on your own as soon as you open your mouth.” Vegeta grit his teeth and balled his fists. She only grinned wider, amused at getting under his skin. “C’mon, be a sport. I’ll even pay for your bus fare so you don’t have to walk.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he let out a frustrated sigh to dispel his anger. It was useless arguing with her, and a free ride was worth the hassle of her company. Probably.

She sensed his acquiescence because she picked up the house keys and jingled them with a dazzling smile. “Let’s go, Stud. You know, all those times I told you to suck a dick, I didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

“Ha ha,” he bit back sarcastically, pulling on his threadbare jacket. “It’s for security detail, so morally questionable people like yourself can’t just walk up and snoop around… You know, I’m glad you’re coming. It might help my case.”

 “Whatever,” she rolled her eyes at him, then eyed his outfit. Her mouth thinned. “Are you _really_ going wearing _that_?”

Vegeta looked down at himself, observing his BOUNCER shirt and his only pair of jeans, ratty at the ends. “What’s wrong with this?”

Bulma sighed. “Nothing. Let’s just go already.”

“Finally,” he grouched under his breath as he followed her out of the apartment. He turned the lock before leaving, - not that they had much to steal, but it was a force of habit, and he would be damned if he was going to make it easy for anyone to encroach on his territory. As Bulma looked up the studio’s address on her phone, trying to bum WiFi off the neighbors who hadn’t locked their signal, Vegeta shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her downstairs.

* * *

 

~xoXox~ 

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the lovely  **Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp ^_^**

 

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he’d be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist and illustrator extraordinaire) and LadyVegeets (writer) can be found on **twitter** , **tumblr** and other sites. We’d love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^

 


	2. 02 Proposition

**On Set**

**-02 Proposition-**

 

“I think it’s just up here,” Bulma said to Vegeta as they walked down the street. It felt like any other street set in an industrial district, with factories, offices, and storage sheds lining the road. Stopping in front of one of the more modest looking buildings, Bulma double checked the address, and sure enough found they were in the right place. A glance to her side revealed her grumpy roommate, hands shoved in his pockets, glaring at their surroundings. He always looked so perpetually pissed and on guard, even when there seemed to be no reason for it, like now, when there was no one in sight. Yet Vegeta looked ready to murder the first schmuck that crossed their path.

Bulma found it kind of adorable.

“Nervous?” she asked him, trying to guess at his mood.

His eyes swiveled over to her and his lip pulled back, insulted at the implication of weakness. “S’just fucking cold,” he grouched, hunching his shoulders to stave off the chilly autumn day. It was little wonder. The beat-up jacket he wore appeared to be a relic from his teenage years, growing thinner with each use. It was the only jacket she had ever seen him in. Mostly Vegeta wore old t-shirts about the apartment, and even those he only had a few of. He was in serious need of a wardrobe overhaul. 

“Well, let’s get inside,” she insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the front door.

He made an irritated sound at her overzealous manhandling. “I can walk myself, damnit.”

“Jeez, sorry,” she rolled her eyes, letting him go. They approached the front door that had a very modest ‘Kame Studios’ on the front, easily overlooked from the street. Bulma turned and gave Vegeta a salacious grin. “Hey, think we’ll actually get to see people going at it?”

He gave her a disapproving look. “…I don’t know you. I didn’t come here with you. You’re just some crazy woman who followed me down the street.”

“Pfft,” she replied. “That’s a terrible story. They’re not going to hire you for security if you can’t even handle one crazy stalker, are they?”

His jaw worked and she turned before he could see her smirk in victory. She knocked, pausing a polite moment before turning the handle. The door swung in, but instead of being greeted by forced moans and bad electro-funk music, they only found a very bland office. It could have been the reception area to any business, with no distinguishing features giving away the nature of what went on inside. A man sat at a front desk reading a car magazine. He looked up at Bulma and Vegeta as they entered, his expression just as neutral as the room. “Can I help you two?”

Vegeta took a step forward, his eyes scanning the office. “Yeah, a friend said you guys were hiring?”

The man looked them both over. Turning, he reached back into a filing cabinet and pulled out two forms, handing them over to Vegeta. He waved at a container of pens. “Fill those out while I see if someone is available to meet with you.” The man then picked up the phone and called someone internally.

Curious, Bulma looked over Vegeta’s shoulder as he glanced at the paperwork. His brow was pulled down as he tried to puzzle out why the man had given him two identical forms. 

“…Maybe he needs a copy?” she suggested, keeping her voice down so as not to disturb the receptionist’s call.

Vegeta’s flashed her an annoyed look. “There’s a fucking copy machine in the goddamn corner,” he said, also keeping his voice low. “…It must be a mistake.”

Bulma shrugged. She flashed him a wicked grin. “You don’t suppose he thinks I’m part of your team or something, does he?”

“Ha! With your skinny arms? As if,” Vegeta snorted, finding the idea preposterous.

Bulma pouted and punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“That’s for being a dick!” she told him.

He grit his teeth at her. “Could you _not_ be a cunt for three minutes so I can fill out one of these goddamn-”

“Hey,” the receptionist said, cutting into their whispered squabble. “The Boss said he’s free now, if you wanna head on in. You can fill those out after if all goes well. Just head right on down to the back.” He stood and opened a door for them to go through.

Bulma shoved Vegeta through the door before he could protest her tagging along. He grunted, throwing her an agitated look that she ignored, giving the receptionist a cheerful, “Thanks!” as they stepped into the studio proper.

They moved down a hallway until it opened out into a large studio space, various sets with beds and other props set up, lights and cameras and curtains all over the place. There were side doors too, no doubt leading off to other rooms and perhaps more extensive sets. But no one was filming. Pity. Bulma pouted, looking around. She spotted one girl sitting in front of a mirror, primping. The woman had sharp features, blond hair and almond eyes. She was pretty. Really pretty.  She had the kind of beauty that would make a less secure woman jealous. Bulma admired her from afar, instantly curious. The blond gave them a cursory glance over, her eyes lingering on Vegeta before she looked back at herself in the mirror. “You guys new?” she asked, her tone all business, bored.

“He’s here to interview,” Bulma said, pointing at Vegeta.

“Keep going down there,” the blond indicated, pointing down another hallway. Vegeta nodded and started heading off, looking over his shoulder and raising a brow at Bulma when she didn’t follow.

“I’ll hang out here,” she told him with a smile. “You don’t want me getting in your way, right?”

His expression didn’t change but must have agreed because he kept going, not giving her another glance. “Try not to get yourself thrown out,” he called back as he disappeared down the hallway.

Bulma stuck her tongue out at his back before her eyes drifted once more over to the blond. The place was quiet, calm, and deserted. That, or the rooms had some pretty fantastic sound proofing, which actually made a lot of sense the more Bulma thought about it. She walked over to the blond, sticking out her hand with a smile. “Hey, I’m Bulma.”

The blond glanced at Bulma’s hand before she put her mascara down and shook it. “Eighteen.”

Bulma’s brow arched up. “…Really?”

Eighteen smirked. “It’s my stage name. Something of an in-joke. If we hire your boyfriend, I might tell you the story behind it.”

Bulma laughed. “Ahaha, oh my god no, he’s not my boyfriend.”

Eighteen arched a brow and shrugged. She went back to her make up.

Bulma took the stool next to her, shamelessly watching the woman put on her face. “So, you’re a, uh… ‘actress’?” she asked.

Eighteen’s blue eyes darted to Bulma’s reflection, searching for any judgement, but Bulma harbored none, only curiosity. When else would she get the chance to speak with a professional adult film actress? Finding nothing incriminating, Eighteen’s eyes shifted back to her own face. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s so friggin’ awesome!” Bulma gushed, unable to contain her excitement. “You guys have a lot of guts to do what you do. I think it’s really inspiring. And sexy. I mean, you look gorgeous. How long does it take to get ready for a shooting?”

Eighteen snorted. “Honey, you don’t even want to know. I’d suck twice as many dicks if it meant I didn’t have to primp and shave and pluck and powder and diet nearly so much.” Her eyes glanced back to Bulma, examining her critically. “But you look like you keep yourself in good shape. It wouldn’t take much to fix you up for a shoot. The men would eat a pretty thing like you right up.”

“Wh-who me?!” Bulma stammered, even as she basked in the compliment. “Oh, I dunno… I might have _fantasized_ about it once or twice, but I can’t say I’ve given porn any _serious_ thought.”

Eighteen shrugged her shoulder again. “Well, I won’t lie and say it’s all glamorous or endless orgasms. It’s not. But this company is one of the better ones I’ve worked for, and if you like the attention, and money, you could do worse. Trust me.”

Her words set off a string of lights in Bulma’s mind, like a line of Christmas lights. Attention? Money? Bulma couldn’t lie, not to herself: she loved both of those things. A lot. And sex too, if she was being honest. Jeez, when was the last time she had gotten laid anyway? With Yamcha, but that was a while ago now, and even longer than that considering he hadn’t given her an orgasm in months… Bulma bit her lip, possibilities starting to blossom in her mind. She leaned in on her stool, her heart pounding with wild thoughts. “…How _much_ money?”

Eighteen’s lips curled up at the corner in amusement, but she continued putting on her make up. “There’s a check in my top drawer. Take a look.”

Bulma did. She opened the drawer and sure enough found a crisp white check. Picking it up, checking out the amount it was made out for, Bulma felt her eyes going wide. “…Holy shit.”

Eighteen’s smile widened. “Not bad for a day’s work, huh?”

“A _day_?!” Bulma shrieked, her fingers tightening over the check. “You made this in a day?” She put the check back in the drawer before her envy got the best of her.

Eighteen chuckled. “Don’t get too excited. A newbie like you would be starting off at a lower pay grade, but you would still be making decent money. Your… _not_ boyfriend is going to be worse off though. Men don’t get paid as well as us ladies.”

Bulma blinked, her excitement dying out as her brow pulled down, confused. Then she reeled back and shook her hand between them, waving Eighteen’s comment off. “Oh, haha, no no no, you’re mistaken. Vegeta isn’t here for _porn_ , he’s here for security.”

Eighteen arched a delicate brow. “But we’re not hiring security.”

The two women stared at each other.

Bulma leapt off her the stool, feeling the blood drain from her face, her eyes going wide. A prickling cold sweat broke out on her skin. “Oh. My god.”

Eighteen’s brows rose curiously. “Something wrong?”

Bulma darted off down the hallway where she had seen Vegeta go. “I have to go save your boss before Vegeta kills him!”

* * *

~xox~ 

 

Vegeta was having something of an existential crisis. He knew he had fallen low, maybe not rock bottom, but pretty freaking low none the less. Not that he had ever been up high, but living in Frieza’s gang had afforded him _some_ benefits, and even a modicum of respect. Neither of which he had been getting lately. He certainly hadn’t gotten anything out of the bouncing gig, unless you counted one measly pay check. Fuck, that job had been demeaning, a huge blow to his self-esteem, and an even worse blow when he lost it. It only proved what a colossal piece of shit Frieza had always said he was. As if that weren’t enough, being kept by a woman with a soft spot for strays wasn’t helping his ego either. 

So Vegeta didn’t think it could get much worse. But of course, the world enjoyed proving how very wrong he could be, no doubt laughing at him right at this very moment as he struggled to understand the request asked of him. Vegeta knew the words that were being said, but what he couldn’t understand was their meaning. He was sure there was some nuance he wasn’t correctly perceiving.

“…What?” he asked, feeling a vein start to throb in his temple.

The old man sat at a desk, wearing sunglasses and sporting a long white beard, looking like a goddamn ZZ Top* extra. He wore a benign smile and genially repeated himself. “Your clothes, son. Take ‘em off so we can get a good look at you.”

Okay, so, _no_ , Vegeta hadn’t misheard or misunderstood. That’s exactly what he thought the old man had said the first time. He felt his lip curl in disgust as his mind imploded with the request. Taking a threatening step forward, Vegeta’s right hand fisted, anger boiling to the surface. “The _fuck_ kind of interview is this? What kind of pervert are y-”

Bulma came crashing through the door, her eyes taking in the scene in only a second.

“Oh good! Boobs!” the old man announced, trying to get a look at Bulma over the rim of his sunglasses.

Vegeta saw red. Just as he was about to grab a fistful of the old man’s tacky shirt, Bulma stepped in front of him. She grabbed his arms, looking over her shoulder at the old man. “So sorry, there’s been a HUGE misunderstanding. Can I borrow him for just a _teeny_ second?”

Without waiting for an answer, Bulma tugged Vegeta out of the office until they were out in the hallway. Vegeta was seething, ready to call this whole thing a wash and head home, — maybe with a stop along the way to murder Nappa for ever suggesting he come here. He grabbed Bulma’s wrist and tried to pull her after him. “Come on, we’re leaving this fucking place.”

“Vegeta, wait,” she said, digging in her heels.

He glanced at her, unable to fathom what she could possibly want to hang around for. “Bulma, this place is shady as hell. That asshole just asked me to strip. And you heard what he said about you!”

“Yes,” she replied, her face wincing in sympathy.

“Yes?” he roared back, his hands flying up, incredulous. “The fuck do you mean, _yes_? What kind of man asks another man to fucking strip for a security job?”

“Uh, well… the kind that’s actually conducting an interview for a porn star?” Bulma offered with a wane smile. 

Vegeta tried to let that process. It didn’t. “…What?”

Bulma gave an awkward laugh. “Well, so, I was just talking to one of the workers here and I think there’s been a bit of a mixup… I believe you were just auditioning for porn.”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He breathed in through his nose, and then out, and managed to feel surprisingly calm given the situation. Someone should have given him a fucking medal for that kind of mental control. “And we’re not leaving this place, because…?”

Bulma’s eyes met his, then actually darted away as she steeled herself. That was unlike her. He had only known her a month, but living together 24/7 taught you a whole fucking lot about a person, and Vegeta knew that Bulma rarely hesitated. She brought her hands up to once again touch his arms, her fingers curling in his sleeves. He tensed, suddenly feeling trapped. 

“Okay, so… And just hear me out on this one,” she started, looking up at him from under long, blue lashes, trying to appear coy. He felt his jaw clench in response, all his internal signals flashing red. “This might sound crazy,” she continued. “But… What if we actually gave it a try?”

He stared at her, once again under the impression that the words he heard couldn’t mean what he thought they meant. And what the hell did she mean by ‘we’…? “Bulma,” he growled, her name a warning, his good temperament teetering on the edge of an all-out rampage.

“It’s a lot of money, Vegeta.”

Oh dear fuck, she was _serious_. He shoved her away, pushing her at arm’s length as if worried that being near her meant catching whatever form of crazy she had come down with. “You’re fucking joking! Who cares how much fucking money it is? I’m not-”

“A whole month,” she said, cutting into his tirade. “One movie, one _day_ of shooting would cover our rent for the whole month, with enough left over for groceries and utilities too.”

Vegeta’s mouth snapped shut. He had done a lot of bad things in his life. He had hurt people, stolen things, broken the law on counts beyond his recall (although the police probably did). He had committed acts that most people would not be proud of, and yet with very little effort, Vegeta managed to sleep just fine at nights. Shame was not something he readily felt, if he felt it at all. That was, until right now, when for a second, for just one tiny, fluttering beat of a heart, Vegeta actually considered her offer. 

And instantly felt ashamed.

“If you want to _whore_ yourself out so badly, don’t let me stop you,” he spat at her coldly. “But don’t drag me into it.”

Sick to his stomach, Vegeta turned on his heels and left, furious at himself, at her, at the world and the shit show that was his life that had him actually considering doing _porn_. Fuck it, fuck it ALL, he was so done. OUT. GOOD FUCKING BYE. He stormed right out of the studio, ignoring the blond and the receptionist as he busted his way back onto the street where the cool fall weather licked at his clothes. But it couldn’t quell the bright fire of indignation and shame burning within him.

* * *

~xox~ 

 

Bulma arrived home to an empty apartment. It wasn’t surprising, considering that she had taken the bus whereas Vegeta had probably walked. That was, if he was walking home and not off in another direction, running away from her and her crazy proposal.

She had never seen him that upset before. 

Bulma sighed, irritated at his immaturity but not really surprised by it. The guy seemed perpetually high strung, and though he could make lewd jokes with her about the TV shows they watched, any time the conversation turned personal he would clam up and grow sullen, and she was lucky if she could get a grunt out of him. Bulma had known she was crossing a line when she suggested they try filming porn, especially after Vegeta had uncharacteristically grabbed her arm in trying to flee the studios. But she had just been so swept up in the idea at the time and hadn’t wanted to let an opportunity slip by without at least considering their options. So she pushed him. Too far, apparently.

Damn.

Bulma opened their fridge but only empty shelves greeted her. The dishes were still piled up in the sink too, dirty. The apartment was unsettlingly quiet. It didn’t feel like home without Vegeta lounging about, watching TV, digging for food, or even just hanging out in his room; his presence always felt like a heavy weight in the air. Bulma turned around and headed back out to pick up some food, knowing she would have to use her credit card and rack up even more interest which she couldn’t pay.

The image of Eighteen’s pay check floated back into her mind, a phantom of temptation. Damn was that some good money. And for only one day of work? Imagine only needing to work a few days a month to make rent and live comfortably. Of course, there was the _nature_ of the work… Bulma knew it couldn’t be as glamorous as it appeared on screen, Eighteen had even said as much. Still, if Bulma was able to choose the job, who she worked with, what she did, surely she could soldier through for just one day to help make ends meet, just make one film to earn enough to give her the time to find a better job? But could she actually do it, make porn? Could she keep it from her friends and family? Could she go through with it? Bulma really didn’t know, and it was a little terrifying though at the same time exciting. The thrill of the challenge called to her. It’s why she had stayed behind, once Vegeta had left, and spoken to the Producer, taking his business card just in case.

Bulma checked her phone but there were no missed calls or messages. Vegeta probably just needed time to cool down. With food and beer in hand, Bulma went home, finding the place still deserted. She spent the evening cleaning, cooking, eating, checking her phone and waiting. A lot of waiting.

She drank over half the six-pack waiting for Vegeta to come back, and finally passed out on the couch half way through her fourth can.

She startled awake a few hours later, blinking blearily about. It was late, way after midnight, but something was different. The air felt heavy. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Bulma got up, stumbling in the dark over to Vegeta’s bedroom and lightly rapped her knuckles on his door before opening it a crack. “Vegeta?”

* * *

~xox~ 

 

Vegeta was staring up at the ceiling in the dark when her knock came. The door opened, Bulma peering in. With his eyes adjusted to the night he could make her out. She was rubbing at her face, her voice slurring from sleep, or maybe from all the beer she had, if the empty cans he had seen about her on the couch were any indication. He had contemplated waking her up when he came back in, but decided against it. She was a grown ass woman, and if she wanted to pass out on the couch in her own place, so be it. Still, it seemed that he had woken her indirectly, considering he had only just settled down when her knock came.

He sighed, still bristling with agitation. “What?”

She took that as a sign to come in. Of course she did, she was always acting like she was entitled to everything. He felt the bed dip as she sat at the end, pulling her knees up to her chest and trying to make him out in the dark. He pushed himself up into a sitting position so he felt less vulnerable, leaning his back on the wall and staring her down, waiting.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said, actually sounding contrite. 

He huffed, looking away. 

“Vegeta, look,” she went on, her tone becoming firmer. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just got a little carried away with the romanticism of it all.”

Vegeta felt his brows rise with incredulity, turning his head back towards her. “Romant- About _PORN_?” This woman was unbelievable!

She shrugged her shoulders. “You know, the glitz and glamor of it… Being seen as a sex idol, working only occasionally to make a solid pay check. Doing something secretive and naughty… Having lots of sex with good looking people… You don’t think that’s a little alluring?”

Vegeta opened his mouth to object, but found it hard to come up with the right words to combat her argument. Fuck her and her damn logic. He grabbed at the first insult that came to mind. “Why not cut out the middle man and go sell yourself on the goddamn street corner?” he replied snidely.

She actually laughed. “Give me two more months without a pay check and we might be there,” she joked. Or he hoped she joked.

“Tch.”

She started crawling up the bed towards him. He tensed, his entire body rigid as she reached his side and started wriggling under the blankets.

“The fuck are you doing?” he protested.

“It’s cold,” she whined.

“Then go to your own fucking bed!”

“But we’re having a conversation.”

He sighed in aggravation. “Bulma, it’s late…”

“I’m thinking about doing it,” she blurted out.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. Good. Go do porn. Now let me sleep.”

He felt her fingers on his forearm and he stiffened. “Do you think I can?” she asked, her voice soft.

He dropped his hand from his face, trying to see her expression but the dark obscured her features. Her question had him feeling very uncomfortable. “…How the fuck would I know? You just lay there and let some asshole fuck you, right? What’s so hard about that?”

She retracted her hand. “I think it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

He didn’t reply. This whole conversation could go to hell for all the discomfort it was causing him. He was definitely going to murder Nappa for bringing this down upon him.

“Would you watch it?” she asked.

“Watch what?”

“My porn.”

… _What_? Vegeta desperately tried to shut down the images of her in an adult film before his imagination could get carried away with them. He swallowed, feeling far too hot all of a sudden, her presence and the blankets _smothering_ him. “I already told you I don’t watch that shit.”

“No, I mean…” She hesitated, finding the right words, completely oblivious to his discomfort as she fussed with the blankets. “You saw that other woman there, right? Can I compete with that, or am I just kidding myself?” she gave a half-hearted laugh.

Was she… looking for validation? From him? What the actual _fuck_. “…Bulma, I don’t fucking know.”

She didn’t say anything, her head lowered, and he got the distinct impression he had said the wrong thing. Fuck this conversation all the way to fucking _space_. He sighed and tried again, if only to appease her enough so that she would leave him be to sleep this shitty day away once and for all.

“If I ever sunk so low as to watch porn, I would watch yours over the blond’s. Happy now?”

She leaned in, nudging his shoulder with her own, her amusement evident in her voice. “Thanks. Hey. Would you come with me tomorrow?”

“Where?” he growled.

“Back to Kame Studios. They’re filming and invited us to watch, so we could see what the gig would be like.”

“Bulma-”

“Please?” she begged, her fingers alighting on his arm again, making his teeth clench in frustration. “I’d feel so much safer if you accompany me.”

Goddamn her. “…I’m not doing porn.”

“No,” she agreed.

“I’m serious, Bulma.”

“I know. I respect that,” she said, her fingers tightening over his arm in silent thanks.

His own fingers clenched on the bed covers. “Go to bed so I can get some fucking sleep. I’m not going anywhere tomorrow if I’m exhausted.”

“You’re the best!” she gushed, giving him another nudge and then climbed out of his covers, moving to his bedroom door. “Sweet dreams!”

He grunted as she slipped out. Long after he heard her bedroom door snick shut, he laid back down. Reaching out, he pulled the second pillow over his face and hoped he might suffocate in his sleep, sparing himself from waking the next day.

 

* * *

~xoXox~ 

 

 **AN:** beta-read by **Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp ^_^**

 

**I won’t be held responsible for what happens to your underwear in the next chapter…**

 

Also um, don’t forget this is just some silly AU. **The decision to do porn should be taken far, FAR more seriously than these idiots are taking it**. I mean, if that’s your thing, go for it, but for the love of god, don’t make these megalomaniacs your role model. Just saying.

 

*If you guys don’t know ZZ Top, google them. Forgive me for being an old fart with my old fart references. But you can’t tell me ZZ Top wasn’t an inspiration for Roshi’s design. I simply won’t believe you.

 

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he’d be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist, illustrator extraordinaire and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer and ideas woman) can be found on **twitter** , **tumblr** and other sites. We’d love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^


	3. 03 - Practice

**On Set**

**-03 Practice- (NSFW)**

 

Vegeta wore a permanent scowl on his face, glaring at anything and everything that entered his vicinity. Why the ever loving fuck had he agreed to come back here? Goddamn that woman.

Speaking of which, Bulma was off chatting it up again with the blond from yesterday, leaving Vegeta to stand awkwardly in the studio with nothing better to do than hate on the universe as the crew started lighting one of the sets.

“Hey, Vegeta,” Bulma called to him, bringing over the blond. “This is Eighteen. Eighteen, Vegeta. She’s been telling me a little about the biz.”

“Great,” Vegeta snarked, eyeing the woman over dubiously. Eighteen was attractive by conventional standards, but Vegeta saw the sharp look in her narrowed eyes and the confident tilt of her hips, and knew he would commit murder if it meant never having to deal with the likes of her. She had ‘praying mantis’ written all over her — that’s what the boys had often referred to women who were as dangerous as they were sexually alluring. Vegeta wanted none of it, and the fact that Bulma was chumming it up with the likes of her made him even more irritable. 

 “Bulma says you have some concerns,” Eighteen said, her eyes latched onto Vegeta, her icy blue stare ruthless. He narrowed his own eyes at her, cursing Bulma as he did. 

 _Concerns_? That didn’t even begin to touch on the mess of doubts he harbored for this line of ‘work’. He looked at Bulma, but she just gave him a guilty smile. 

“You should be fine,” Eighteen continued in an arrogant drawl. “You’re buff enough that it’ll make up for the lack of height.”

“The fuck did you-”

“Eighteen, honey, we’re almost ready,” someone called, cutting him off. Eighteen smirked and slipped away to get ready for the shoot.

“What the _hell_ did you tell her?!” Vegeta snapped at Bulma as soon as Eighteen was gone.

“Nothing! I swear, I was only asking for myself!” Bulma said, holding up her hands defensively, looking just as surprised by Eighteen’s comments as he had been.

“Fucking bitch,” he grumbled after Eighteen, scowling harder and tightening his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust her. You’re taking _her_ advice? I wouldn’t take a goddamn piece of gum from her.”

Bulma nudged his side, trying to hide a smile. “Please. You’re just intimidated by strong women.”

“That’s no woman, that’s a goddamn man-destroying machine,” Vegeta sniped back. 

The grin she gave him was brilliant, lighting up her whole face. “Yeah, I knew there was a reason I liked her.”

“Tch.” 

They watched the finishing touches being put into places to get the set finalized for the shoot. One of the crew ushered Vegeta and Bulma to a safe place where they could watch from a distance without getting in anyone’s way. Vegeta was glad to have an excuse to be as far from the action as possible. A glance to his side found Bulma wide-eyed with wonder as she watched, her fingers over her mouth in anticipation. It totally baffled him that she could be so into this. He hadn’t seen her this enthusiastic since, well… ever? Sure, he had seen her worked up, usually when they squabbled, or made fun of TV characters, people at the grocery store, and sometimes each other. But all that was very innocent. Safe. They didn’t really talk about personal things or their passions. After all, what did they currently have in their lives to be passionate about? Debt? Imminent poverty? Who got the last beer? As far as he could recall, he had never seen Bulma really, genuinely _excited_. Not like this.

“Oh my god, it’s _starting_ ,” she whispered, barely able to contain herself as the cameras began to roll. 

It was as awful as he had feared it would be. A clichéd set up with clichéd lines, but he supposed no one really cared. Who was watching this shit for the story anyway?

He heard Bulma snort next to him. “I can’t believe this dialog,” she said.

He relaxed, smirking, glad she wasn’t so enraptured by this porn thing to have lost all sense of herself. That was comforting to know. It suddenly felt like any other night, just the two of them watching TV together, making snide remarks about the show. “Hn. Ten bucks says she calls him a big boy.”

“You don’t _have_ ten bucks,” Bulma replied, her eyes never leaving the set.

“Privilege to the last beer then.”

“No way… Anyway, how do you know what she’ll say? I thought you didn’t watch porn?”

He shrugged. “Don’t need to watch porn to know all the clichés that whores use.”

“Adult film actress,” she corrected him.

“Tch, _please_.”

“…Oh wow,” Bulma breathed, ignoring him as the male actor came into view.

The guy was big, dark skinned, and well built. He wore a serious expression and a wife-beater with _POSTBOY_ written on it.  He oozed great stage presence. Vegeta had him sized up in a matter of seconds. He figured that if push came to shove, he could take the taller man. Then again, Vegeta thought that about most people.

The male lead barely spoke, but he didn’t need to. Soon enough the two actors were doing what they were paid to do: fuck. Eighteen lavished the man’s cock with her mouth. Vegeta tried to make a joke about it, but Bulma barely acknowledged him, too busy ogling the action. He huffed and gave up. But not being able to poke fun at the scene meant he could only watch it. Soon enough the man was on top of the blond, pumping into her ruthlessly as the cameraman circled them, zooming in and out of the action. Eighteen fisted the couch, arching back and putting on a good show, moaning loudly. Vegeta swallowed and looked away, but he couldn’t shut out the sounds as easily as he could the sight, and somehow only hearing it was worse.

He rubbed sweaty palms on his sides, uncomfortable.

Fingers pushed between his own. Startled, he gave Bulma a questioning look. She looked back at him, her cheeks flushed prettily, her bottom lip plump from where she had been biting it. Something tightened in his chest at the sight of her. Everything else was instantly forgotten, fading away; it was just him and her, standing hand in hand, looking at each other. She didn’t say anything, just smiled at him, and it was impossible to miss the want, dancing in her eyes. She squeezed his fingers, and his heart stopped. He had nearly worked up the nerve to squeeze back when her hand slipped from his, and he lost her as she turned her attention back to the set. Reality reawakened around them, and once again they were two amongst many.

Something shattered inside of Vegeta, and he knew. He knew she was going to do it. And fucking hell, he knew he was going to support her, in any way that he could.

Goddamn her.

* * *

~xox~ 

 

“And Eighteen said there’s a way to put on make up, and to use wigs so that people will be less likely to recognize you,” she told Vegeta. He sat next to her on the bus home, his chin on his fist, staring out the window, his attention elsewhere. “And all their staff need to be tested at least every two weeks so it’s really safe…” Still no response. Bulma pursed her lips together, watching Vegeta’s face in the reflection of the glass. She was pretty sure he wasn’t listening. “…And then Eighteen ate me out and made me cum five times.”

Nothing.

Bulma sighed. “Hey,” she said, giving him a shove.

His brow hit the glass and he brought a hand up to rub his head, giving her a nasty scowl. “The fuck is your problem?”

“You, apparently,” Bulma snapped back. “You haven’t said a goddamn word since the shooting.”

“What the hell do you want me to say, Bulma?” he asked angrily. “I had a really fun time watching two strangers fuck in front of us? Let’s do it again sometime?!”

She scowled at his sarcastic response. Why was it that all the men in her life had the emotional maturity of eight year-olds? “You know what, never mind. I forget you’re incapable of expressing a genuine opinion without being a total asshat.”

“Tch.”

They sat in silence, the gentle rocking of the bus nudging them together.

Vegeta was the one to finally break the silence. “You’re going to do it whether I approve or not, so what the fuck does it matter what I say?”

She gave him a surprised look. Was he _actually_ trying to communicate with her? Wow. Wonders never did cease to amaze. “It matters because you’re my friend, asshole. And I’m doing this for us.”

“Don’t try to pin this on me,” he huffed, his cheeks going pink as he looked away.

“So you think it’s a bad idea then?” she pressed, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was just as baffled as he was as to why his opinion mattered to her, but it did. Perhaps because for the last month it had been just the two of them, struggling to survive, and she had come to rely on him in a way she hadn’t relied on anyone else. She didn’t want to contact any of her old friends or family, not when she was barely staying afloat, not wanting to have to tell anyone that she, Bulma Briefs, was a total and utter failure. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell them she was considering doing porn, especially as it wasn’t out of pure desperation, but because the idea kind of fascinated her. There weren’t too many people who would get that. But she could tell Vegeta. For some reason, she didn’t mind baring herself to him. Perhaps it was because he understood. He was in the same shitty place that she was, both literally and metaphorically. And somehow, in some way, she wanted his support.

Vegeta sighed and turned in the seat, leveling her with a serious, piercing stare. “Bulma. If this is something you want to do, then I think you should fucking do it, and to hell with what anyone else thinks.”

That was… Wow. Unexpected. She stared into his eyes, stunned speechless, if only for a moment. “…But what do _you_ think?”

He grit his teeth. “I just told you that doesn’t matter!”

“And I just told you that it does!”

His face twisted in comical fury. “Goddamnit, woman, you are so insufferable!”

She laughed, relieved that they could still banter like this, that he wasn’t totally disgusted with her. She leaned forward, pressing a finger against his chest, leaning right up into his face. “C’mon. Tell me you weren’t a little turned on today, or that you didn’t think about what you would do if you were on that set?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the flush on his cheeks only darkened. “… _Don’t_ press your luck, Bulma,” he warned her, narrowing his eyes.

Her grin widened, but she sat back in her seat, letting him off the hook. Her smile faded as her mind went over the implications of what it would mean if she actually did porn. “…It would just be the once,” she tried to reassure him, and maybe herself.

“Hn.”

“Just to help with the bills,” she insisted.

“…”

“And to, you know, do something _wild_ before I get old and boring. I would have a crazy story to tell my grandkids one day, and they would never believe me, but it’s okay, I would know the truth of it.”

“…”

“I mean, how friggin’ hard could it be? It’s just like a one night stand, right? Only you’re getting paid for it, so even if the sex is bad, at least there’s that…”

Vegeta still said nothing.

Bulma glanced at him, nearly yelping when she found he was watching her intently. She recovered with a bashful smile. “Th-think I can do it?”

His voice was resolute, his gaze unwavering. “Yes.”

His confidence in her helped bolster her own. Some inner tension inside her relaxed, and she smiled, nodding. “Of course I can. I’m Bulma friggin’ Briefs. I can do anything!”

“Don’t I know it,” he lamented. 

She punched him in the side.

* * *

~xox~ 

 

Vegeta sat on the couch, one hand over his face, the other clutching a cushion to his lap as he prayed for death. “Bulma. Please, stop,” he begged.

“Stop complaining, you’ll give me a complex,” she replied. “This is the last pair, I swear.”

Fuck her all the way to Hades. “No, fuck this! Go put some damn clothes on!”

“Please, Vegeta, it’s important!” she whined, kicking his foot.

He grit his teeth, his hand fisting on the cushion. Damning himself and her, he reluctantly pulled his hand away and looked. She was standing in front of him, totally naked except for a pair of pink lacy underwear and matching bra that melted over her skin becomingly. She turned around, giving him a good look all around. Fucking hell… She was perfect, everything a woman should be in his opinion: slender frame, curvy hips, smooth skin that looked good enough to run his hands all over… Her lacy lingerie barely covered her breasts and ass, teasing him with what lay beneath. Vegeta drank in the sight before swallowing, screwing his eyes shut and pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. “Great,” he grit out hoarsely. “Now go get dressed.”

“Great what?” she insisted, and from the sound of her voice she _wasn’t_ leaving to go put on clothes like he wished. “Do you think this looks better or worse than the others? Does it fit me okay? Does anything look weird? Is it a good color? Vegeta, you can tell me, I’d rather hear it from you than find out about it later when it’s on camera.”

“Are you even going to be wearing it long enough to matter?” he asked her, incredulous, and desperate to have her not standing there in front of him in only her _goddamn lingerie_. 

“Oh, yeah…”

Vegeta sighed, relieved.

“…Should I take it off?”

It felt like something broke in his brain. Vegeta opened his eyes, giving her a pained, horrified look. 

She smirked back at him, arms crossed smugly. 

Oh, she thought she was real fucking cute. “You _bitch_.”

She shrugged a shoulder and walked off towards the bathroom. “Hey, if I can’t get a rise out of you, what hope do I have in the porn industry?”

He let his head drop back against the couch, finally free of her. He shifted the cushion in his lap, trying to subtly adjust the effect her little fashion show had had on him. 

A minute later he heard her feet on the floor, and he slit his eyes open, taking a wary peek. He was relieved to see she had dressed in an oversized sleep shirt and some shorts. The hint of pink under her white shirt bespoke of the lingerie she still wore beneath. Bulma flopped down on the couch next to him, and he closed his eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

He grunted.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“ _Another_ one?” he replied, incredulous. Like suffering through her underwear parade wasn’t enough?

“As if you have anything better to do.”

He huffed, defeated. “What is it?”

“What makes for a good blow job?”

He fisted the cushion on his lap, his face contorting in fury. Or was it agony? At this point he was having trouble telling those two apart. He leveled Bulma with his most incredulous look yet, but she was oblivious, already plowing on.

“I mean, I get the general idea, and I’ve never had any complaints, but this is different. This will be on _film_. With _professionals_. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.” She looked at him expectantly.

“G-go ask that goddamn Sixteen or Seventeen or whatever-number lady!” Vegeta choked back.

“I did!” Bulma replied with an odd look in her eye. “Eighteen said the best ‘trick’ was practice.” She continued looking at him, her gaze serious, pinning him to the couch.

Vegeta’s stomach clenched with dawning horror. “…No.” She was _not_ suggesting what he thought she was suggesting.

She pouted. “Why not?”

“No!” He said again, more firmly this time, scooting up on the couch to back away from her, the cushion still desperately over his lap. “The fuck is WRONG with you?”

“Wow, thanks,” Bulma replied sarcastically, folding her arms in front of her chest. “I’m so glad the thought of me sucking you off disgusts you so much.”

“That’s not the fucking point, Bulma, don’t give me that shit!” he shouted back at her. “We’re roommates! You don’t think that would make things a little fucking weird?”

She pouted, shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t see why. I’m practicing for my job and you get a blow job. It doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

He struggled to think of a counter argument, but the only words circulating in his mind were a variation of Fuck and No. “I’m goddamn serious, Bulma. I’m not letting you suck my dick.” It was far too personal, made him feel too vulnerable to just put the most sensitive part of him into someone’s mouth.

Bulma wasn’t about to give up though. “What about a hand job then?”

He hesitated, just for a moment, and she saw. She zeroed in on his weakness like a goddamn cat on an injured mouse. She snuck her hand under his cushion, resting her fingers on his thigh, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“C’mon. It’ll be fun,” she murmured, slipping up next to his side. The warmth of her body seeped into his arm. The soft cotton of her shirt rubbed against his skin, and he felt her breast against his arm. “Please please please?” she begged, giving him the biggest blue puppy-eyes, setting his teeth on edge.

He side-eyed her, trying to think of a reason why he should say no, but one head was starting to outweigh the other. “…Your goddamn hands better be warm,” he growled, relenting.

She beamed, pulling her hands up to breathe on them, rubbing them together to circulate warmth. “You bet, buddy.”

He scowled at her and looked away. “So… How do you want to do this?” he asked, feeling more awkward than he could ever remember being.

“Here’s fine, if you’re comfortable?”

He didn’t think he could be any less comfortable, but moving wasn’t going to change that. Vegeta nodded his head, shifting on the couch, sliding down so he could try relaxing. He stared forward, not daring to look at her.

“Um, the cushion?” Bulma prodded gently, and he glanced at his lap, seeing he still had a stranglehold over the damn thing. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Right.” He moved the cushion to the side, trying not to feel embarrassed about how hard he already was. It was only natural, after everything she had put him through tonight. He cleared his throat. “Do you need me to…?”

Bulma seemed to understand he was offering his help. “No, you just relax. Let me take care of you.”

_O-okay…fuck…_

He was still gripping the cushion in one hand off the side of his lap, his other arm he moved to hug the back of the couch, out of her way. She took the space he made, wriggling in closer, her lithe warmth melting against his side, her nearness awakening all his senses. She smelt nice, like vanilla, and something soft and feminine that was her. Her warm breath teased his neck. She trailed a hand down his belly, making his stomach clench and his fingers tightened in the cushion. Fuck, he was so painfully hard already. This was going to end embarrassingly fast.

He tipped his head back, releasing the couch to press his fingers into his closed eyes. He tried thinking of something else, anything else to calm the fuck down so he didn’t cum right there in his pants. He sucked in air through his nose and imagined Dodoria.

Ugh. That did it.

Well, for half a second it killed his enthusiasm, but then Bulma’s fingers found him, gently cupping his cock through his pants, and Dodoria was now the last thing on his mind. _Ffffuck_ that felt good.

“Wow, Vegeta,” she breathed appreciatively as she felt his length. “ _Nice_.”

He mashed his hand over his face, gritting his teeth. “D-don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked innocently, continuing to finger his length. As if he needed it. He was as hard as a goddamn rock.

“The fake dirty talk,” he said. He meant to sound upset, but his voice came out weak, almost pleading. Her fingers were trailing up and down his length, quickly undoing him.

She chuckled. “Shy, are we?”

“Bulma-”

“Well it wasn’t fake. I really am impressed. Are you _sure_ you won’t do porn?”

“Don’t start that again.”

“Okay, big guy, you got it.”

He opened an eye to glare at her, give her a piece of his mind, but the words stopped short. She was watching his face with a wicked little smile. He swallowed, heat flooding to his face, and he felt very put on the spot. “Why are you watching me?”

“To see your reactions,” she said as if it should have been obvious. “You’re not very verbal so I have to figure out if I’m doing this right one way or another.” Her eyes trailed down, watching her hand knead his solid length. Her grin widened, Cheshire-like, and she looked up at him from under long lashes. “I’d say I get a passing grade at least.”

His throat felt dry. He couldn’t do this, have her watching him as she made him come undone. Vegeta brought the cushion up to his face and smothered himself, hiding from her view. “Goddamnit, are you ever going to start, or are you just going to keep fucking with me?”

“Boy, Vegeta, I don’t know how you keep all the ladies at bay with that silver tongue of yours,” she teased him, even as her fingers continued slowly jerking him through his pants. It was goddamn _maddening_. Was this her plan all along? To string him along until he was ready to fucking beg for it? He breathed heavily into the cushion, his fingers twisted in it. God it felt good to have someone else doing this for once, but Vegeta wasn’t going to cave, stubbornly refusing to move his hips or give any other signs (other than the obvious one in his pants) that he was enjoying this.

Then her weight shifted and her fingers slipped away. He barely refrained from making a sound of frustration. But soon the button at his pants was undone, then the next, followed by the fly, slowly being pulled down. He felt the cool air on his boxer briefs, his shorts already wet with precum. Fuck, he was desperate. He struggled to think when the last time was that he had jerked off. A few days ago? Shit, why hadn’t he made time for it this morning? 

“Vegeta, you’re supposed to be helping me,” Bulma murmured, her voice soft and cajoling. “Let me know if I can do anything better, okay?”

He was about to rip the goddamn cushion in half in desperation, needing to feel her hands on him _right fucking now_. But he wasn’t going to say that. “You’re taking too long,” he growled, his voice muffled into the pillow.

“I can’t hear you with that thing over your face.”

He swore and threw the cushion off, just in time for her to find the opening in his briefs and wrap her clever little fingers about him, pulling him out. _Oh shit_. She made an appreciative sound, and he glanced at her, suspicious, but also a little grateful. She was looking at his cock with darkened eyes. A slender finger ran over his pinkened head, down the length of his erect cock, smoothing out the precum that glistened on the tip. He hissed as she did, his cock jumping at her touch, leaking more. “D-don’t play it with it, for fuck’s sake,” he stammered. 

“Oh?” she purred, sounding so fucking cocksure, and for good reason. He was about to blow his load and she had barely even started. Fuck. “What should I do then?”

 _Oh god…_ “Just… fucking… do it already.”

“Like this?” she asked as she wrapped her hand about him and started stroking. No hesitation, no awkwardness. She knew what she was doing. Holy shit, she didn’t need practice, but Vegeta wasn’t about to tell her to stop at his point. He watched, mesmerized, as her hand jerked him off, and he couldn’t believe this was actually happening, only it very obviously was. He could feel the edges of his control starting to fray, wanting to lay back and just fuck her pretty hand until he shattered, but a part of him couldn’t let go, couldn’t acknowledge how much he wanted this. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything after all.

But _fuck_ , she was watching him again. Goddamn that was really unnerving. He looked away, leaning his head back and putting an arm over his eyes to blot her out.

“Does it feel good?” she asked, her voice soft yet impossible to ignore, creeping into his mind, echoing inside his head, wrapping about his thoughts. Comforting. He swallowed, his senses overwrought as she stroked his dick’s silken skin, up and down, in smooth motions. 

“Hn,” was all he could manage.

“Faster? Slower? Tighter?” she pressed. 

Did it _matter_? It felt fucking _incredible_. But she wouldn’t let the matter drop, so Vegeta lowered his arm and wrapped his hand over hers, showing her just how he liked it. Her hand was tiny under his, her skin so much paler, softer. And her fingers were sticky with his precum. He glanced at her. She was watching their hands as he guided her. Then their eyes met, and she smiled, lowering her head just enough that her bangs fell over her eyes. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to suck you off?”

He nearly fucking came. Vegeta grit his teeth and stopped her hand, squeezing down, barely holding back a climax with a grunt. She knew it too, pressing her advantage, leaning in so close their heads almost bunted.

“Please? Just the tip? I swear it’ll be good.”

 _Of fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…_  

Before he could find the strength to refuse she was already slipping down the couch, between his legs. She gave his cock a hungry look, her hand still held in place by his.

She appeared so small and pretty on her knees before him. Her eyes met his, waiting. Something about her eyes always made him feel like he was being cut up by shards of glass, those blues eyes breaking him down, little by little, in ways he couldn’t defend against. “Can I?” she asked eagerly.

Like he had any capacity to refuse. He nodded pitifully, retracting his hand to let her have free reign.

Bulma smiled, wide and beatific. She inched forward, licking her lips, and his cock throbbed just at the sight. Vegeta knew he was damned, always had been, but he felt doubly damned for what he was about to let happen. She licked the head, lapping up the mess he was making with a hot swipe of her tongue. His breath caught. Again, Bulma ran her tongue around the fat head of his cock, before popping it entirely inside her mouth. She was warm, wet, and it felt fucking _heavenly_. Dear _God_ was it _amazing_. A small, appreciative moan left her lips, and he really wished he knew if it was genuine. A tiny, fragile part of his ego really hoped it was.

Vegeta watched her, his eyes glued to the sight of her: pink, pouty lips wrapped around his girth, her face flushed, her eyes fluttered closed. His cock bobbed in and out of her perfect mouth as she kept true to her word, just working the tip. Her wicked tongue pressed up against the crease in the head. He grit his teeth to stop a groan, but failed. “…A-nng…” She noticed, of course, and mercilessly laved that spot over and over until he dropped back against the couch, pressing his palms over his face and into his hair as she tore away at his control. Every fiber of his being wanted to thrust up into the wet cave of her mouth, to grab her soft blue hair and pull her all the way down until he was buried as deeply inside her as he could get. He grabbed large fistfuls of his own hair instead, his body trembling as he struggled to breathe. 

She was toying with him, torturing him, keeping her mouth wet and teasingly loose. He could feel himself start to crescendo. He shuddered, trying to hold back, realizing he didn’t know what to do. They hadn’t talked about how this was going to end, if he should… politely pull her off or not before finishing. A selfish part of him didn’t want it to stop, because fuck, this was the best thing he had experienced in a long fucking time. She also kind of deserved to get a mouthful, seeing as this had all been her damn idea to begin with. He was close, too fucking close, and she kept pressing her tongue into that spot at the underside of his cock and _fffuuuck_ he was going to _cum in her mouth-_

But he couldn’t, feeling bad at the last minute. “S-stop, fuck. Cumming,” he tried to warn her.

She ignored his warning. With a hum, Bulma sank him further into the slick confines of her mouth, pumping him with her hand, and suckled. It was too much. He was already precariously on edge, unable to take the extra stimulation.

“H-oh _fuck!_ ” He arched back and came. His fingers fisted desperately in his hair as he shot his load into her mouth. Her hand and mouth milked him, easing him through his fall until he had nothing left to give. Even then she continued to bring him down from his high.

He finally unwound his hands from his hair, reaching out to stop her before he became over sensitive. He brushed his fingers lightly over her hand, and she understood the gesture. She swallowed, sucking along the length of his cock before letting him plop free.

She had swallowed. She had fucking _swallowed_ his cum. All off it. _Holy fucking shit_. 

Panting to catch his breath, Vegeta couldn’t get his brain to function, overwrought, fried. He was not prepared for this, wasn’t nearly prepared or drunk enough for this… He looked at her at, catching Bulma in the act of licking her lips. He felt raw in a way that he wasn’t used to. He tucked himself back into his pants, ignoring the fact that he was still wet from her mouth. He just needed to be less exposed. 

Her goddamn blue eyes were on him again. As was her Cheshire-cat smile. “So?” she asked, flexing her fingers on his thighs, giving him an expectant look. “How was it?”

Only the best fucking head of his life. He grunted. “You didn’t get very far,” he criticized.

Her smiled widened, and she gave a knowing hum. “You came before I could take you all the way in.”

Shit.

“Then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re a goddamn pro. What do you want from me, a fucking play-by-play?” he asked hotly.

Something clouded over in her eyes. She sat back, the smile on her face wilting. “Well, any constructive criticism would be nice. As would an actual _compliment_.”

Oh. “…I came, didn’t I?”

She gave him a pained look, then glanced away. “Forget it. You’re such an ass, I don’t know why I bother.”

She got up and slumped into the couch seat next to him, frowning, and turned on the TV with the remote. He tried to get into a more comfortable sitting position.

The sound of the television show filled the awkward silence between them. 

Vegeta’s mind was a mess, still coming down from his orgasm and now struggling to reconcile… whatever the fuck this was that was going on between them. He glanced at her, seeing her scowl at the TV. He looked back at the show, not watching whatever was on the screen, and he suspected neither did she.

“…That was the first time.”

She looked at him. “Your first blow job?” the surprise was evident in her tone.

He kept staring straight ahead. “No. The first time I came from one.”

Silence.

He dared a glance at her from the corner of his eye, and she had that stupid smile on her face, the one that was achingly warm and made his stomach churn in an uncomfortable way. 

“I was that good, huh?” she asked, smug.

He scowled and looked away. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

“Tch.” He got up. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay,” she replied, her voice still irritatingly amused. He was almost to the bathroom door when her voice called out to him again. “You’ll let me practice on you again sometime, right?”

He clenched his jaw and didn’t answer, slamming the bathroom door shut. He turned the shower on cold and got in, ignoring the half hard erection her suggestion caused him.

 

* * *

~xoXox~ 

 

 **AN:** beta-read by **Artephile/[Marcella-Duchamp](http://marcella-duchamp.tumblr.com) ^_^**

Checkout NSFW art by Stupidoomdoodles **. :D**

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he’d be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist and illustrator extraordinaire  and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer and ideas woman) can be found on **twitter** , **tumblr** and **other sites**. We’d love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^

 


	4. 04 Scripted

**On Set**

**-04 Scripted-**

 

Bulma could barely contain herself from skipping up the stairs to the apartment. Her new acquisition was tucked neatly under one arm. She opened the door (which she hadn’t bothered to lock, not when Vegeta was home to keep guard) and stepped inside, eager to seek him out.

Vegeta wasn’t hard to find. In fact, he was sitting in the middle of the living room floor, knees up, doing crunches. His powerful body heaved up and down, over and over. His eyes flicked to her, then away, not letting her entrance slow his pace. He was dressed in old sweat pants and a tank top. His feet were bare. The top stuck wetly to his sweaty chest.

His perfect, broad, sweaty chest…

Oh shit, she was staring. Better say something.

“You’re still working out?” Bulma asked, honestly surprised. She glanced at the time then back at him. “It’s been over two hours.” He had been exercising when she left the apartment. 

Vegeta grunted. “No gym,” he said in the short pause at the top of his crunch, before dropping back to the floor. “No weights,” he added on the next repeat. 

Bulma pursed her lips. So Vegeta was trying to make up for heavy lifting with quantity of reps? “Is this efficient?” she asked, putting her things on the kitchen counter and coming over to him.

“No,” he admitted tensely, but didn’t stop, clearly determined to exhaust himself in the hopes of getting in a passable work out.

Bulma sat down by his raised knees, sitting on his toes to help anchor Vegeta’s feet to the floor. He hesitated for only a moment before continuing his work out, saying nothing about her assistance. When he crunched up, their faces were only inches apart. She could smell the salty, musky sweat on him, and see the dark storm of unreadable emotions in his black eyes. His hot breath puffed out as he exhaled, ghosting against her cheek. 

He grimaced at her nearness but didn’t tell her to fuck off. She smiled, knowing she had been getting away with invading his personal space a lot lately. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to it, or perhaps he had just learned that it was pointless to argue with her about it.

Vegeta grunted as he performed another crunch, his eyes darting up, then away again.

Did she imagine it, or did his eyes settle on her mouth just before he dropped back down? Bulma’s heart fluttered at the thought, her smile widening with vain pride. Was he thinking of the blow job she had given him, remembering her lips on his cock? 

He wouldn’t be the only one.

Watching Vegeta come apart a couple nights ago had been a far greater ego boost than Bulma could have thought possible. Especially when he had confided afterwards that it was the first time he had ever cum from a blow job. Poor guy. Either he had suffered lousy partners in the past, or just hadn’t been able to let go. Bulma could bet which one was more likely, what with how uptight and private Vegeta was. But _she_ had done it, she had made him cum. And damn, had it been _fun_. And really, _really_ hot. She was dying to know if he thought so too, but asking him outright would only make Vegeta clam up. He hadn’t even acknowledged the act since, the two of them going about their usual routine like nothing had changed, and Bulma wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for that or not. Had he thought about it afterwards, even a little? Had he enjoyed it despite all his blustering, had he jerked himself off to the memory of her mouth on his dick? Because _she_ certainly had, bringing herself to climax later that same night on her bright green vibrator, remembering how he had blushed and groaned and spilled himself all over her tongue…

Okay, so she might have had a bit of a crush on the guy. After all, just _look_ at him. He was _ripped_ , and screamed ‘high-strung taciturn man in need of a good fuck’, which Bulma kind of had a thing for. Messing with uptight men was something of her hobby. She liked fucking _with_ men as much as she liked fucking them. And messing with Vegeta had been pretty damn amazing.

Speaking of which…

Wanting to see if she had left as big of an impression as she hoped, Bulma leaned forward, resting her arms on Vegeta’s knees. The next time he sat up, she ran her tongue over her lips to wet them. His eyes definitely went to her mouth. And there it was, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

Or was that just from his exertion? Damnit, she didn’t know.

“Do you _mind_?” he grunted, their heads now nearly touching as he crunched up.

Bulma smirked and shrugged a shoulder. “No. You?”

“Tch.” He dropped back to the floor, laying flat on his back, breathing hard up at the ceiling.

“Done?” she asked when he stayed prone.

He grunted, wiping his forearm over his brow. 

Bulma started massaging his calves. “Why don’t I help you train?”

“You? How?” he asked, skeptically. 

“Well, I could… I dunno, sit on your back when you do push ups?”

“Hn. How much do you weigh?”

Oh no he did NOT. Her fingers stilled and she glared at him for asking such a personal question, but he wasn’t even looking, completely oblivious, his arm resting over his eyes as he caught his breath. The image sent a jolt of familiarity through her. He looked so much like when he had been on the couch, head thrown back, arm over his face, and his dick in her mouth. Bulma pushed those thoughts aside before she got too distracted, and relented to answer his question. “…49 kilos.” 

“That’s _all_?” he asked. He sat up on his elbows, giving her an almost worried look. “That’s _nothing_.”

Bulma leaned back, uncertain if she should be flattered or offended. Did he mean her weight was nothing, or it would be nothing to lift her? “Well, what other options do you have?” she asked. “I’ll help you work out, and you help me with my script.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What script?”

Bulma grinned, squeezing his calves. “The script to my movie I just got. Can you help me practice?”

“They _script_ porn?” he asked incredulously. 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Of course. So, are you going to help me?” Vegeta looked unwilling, his mouth thinning. Bulma decided to sweeten the deal. “What if I give you another blow job?”

“Wha-… WHY do you keep bringing that up?!” he huffed. He looked off to the side in annoyance. Definitely blushing.

Cute.

Bulma chuckled and decided to take pity on him. She stood up. “C’mon then, big guy,” she teased, holding out her hand.

He flashed her an irritated look but grabbed her offered hand. He pulled and started to stand.

But he had used too much force. Bulma’s eyes widened, unable to handle his strength. Her weight shifted forward, and Vegeta fell backwards, dragging her down with him.

“Ah-”

“Tch!”

“-Oof!”

Vegeta landed rather unceremoniously on his back, with her sprawled on top of him. Bulma raised herself up from his sweaty chest, sweeping the hair from her eyes. “What the hell, Vegeta? If you wanted a blow job that badly, you could have just-”

“DON’T start that again,” he grouched, wincing as she put her weight on his ribs. “That was _your_ fault. What the hell were you playing at?”

“I was _trying_ to pull you up.”

“Well you suck at it.”

“I do NOT,” she huffed. “You’re too damn heavy. You’re supposed to help, not make me do all the work.”

“I thought I was. I’ve met grandmothers with more strength than you’ve got.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Bulma glared at him. He glared back. Their faces inches apart. Her body lying snuggly on top of his. The heat from his body was intense, furnace hot, his skin flushed from his work out. It lulled her, enticing her to stay curled up on him. Her own skin, still cool from her trip outside, greedily sucking up all the warmth he offered. She melted against his hard body. Their stare off was starting to grow a little too long, a little too intense, but neither of them were making a move to disengage…

She pressed her fingers over his rapidly beating heart, soaking in his warmth.

“Fuck, your hands are cold,” he complained, breaking the tension. Before she could reply, his hands found her tiny waist and squeezed her to his front. Her breath hitched in surprise as in one smooth, agile motion Vegeta pushed them to their feet. She gripped his arms for balance. His upper arms were huge. She looked up at him as they righted, surprised to see he was watching her. For a moment their eyes met, his arms still holding her about the waist. Her heart was beating painfully fast. Then the moment passed, and he let her go. 

“Don’t you have any goddamn gloves or something?” he snapped at her, looking away, rubbing the spots where she had touched him.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, my hands are cold,” she griped back. Bulma turned and touched her fingers to her cheeks, hoping her chilled hands would calm down the flush on her face. Okay girl, get it together. All this porn business is going to your head if you’re blushing over some biceps and being held at the waist.

She headed into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Vegeta went to the fridge. He opened the door and peered inside. “We out of water?” he asked.

“Bottled water is expensive,” Bulma lectured him. “Drink the tap water.”

“That tastes like shit,” he complained. He grabbed a beer, popped the cap with ease, and stood in the kitchen, dripping sweat, as he quenched his work-out thirst, draining the beer in several large, gulping swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing greedily. He gasped for air when he finished, tossing the empty bottle aside before heading to the bathroom.

Damn.

“Where are you going?” she asked. She couldn’t quite bring herself to complain about his lack of recycling, not after witnessing his impromptu beer commercial performance.

“Need to wash off.”

Vegeta shut the bathroom door behind him. Bulma rolled her eyes and made herself some tea, mostly just to hold something hot to warm her hands. She pulled her movie script across the counter to peruse while she waited.

Ten minutes later Vegeta stepped out of the bathroom freshly showered, changed into his usual attire of a t-shirt and pants. He headed to the fridge again.

“So, we agreed you’re going to help me with the script, right?” Bulma asked him.

Vegeta glanced over his shoulder at her. “YOU agreed.”

Bulma looked back at him stubbornly.

Vegeta sighed, turning away from her to pull out another beer from the fridge. “…I’m not fucking acting it out.”

She smirked. “No. That won’t be necessary. All the ‘acting’ is decided by the director and actors before hand. This is just the before and after dialogue.” 

“Hn.” Vegeta came over to her with his second beer, cracking off the cap and taking a healthy swallow. 

“Rough day?” she commented. He wasn’t usually so eager to drink.

“Like I’m going to be sober while helping you with your porn homework,” he grouched back. He peered at the document. 

Bulma bit back a smile at his comment and pointed to the first line. “The milk man. That’s you, well, whoever the guy is gonna be.”

“You’re not fucking that tall guy are you?” he asked suddenly.

“What guy? Piccolo? The one we saw Eighteen with? No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Vegeta didn’t reply, just grunted and sipped his beer, reading the script. Bulma watched his face very carefully. His reactions were subtle, but she was getting pretty good at reading them by now. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. He put his drink aside, then looked at her.

“Very funny. Where’s the actual script?”

“This _is_ the actual script,” she explained, unable to stop the amusement curling her lips.

Vegeta’s expression didn’t change. “…They’re pulling your leg.”

“Nope. Trust me. I asked the same thing.” She was relishing watching Vegeta come to terms with the reality of the dialog.

His brows knitted together, looking pained. He glanced once more at the script, then back at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Very,” she smirked. She pushed the pages towards him. “C’mon. Read it. I have to memorize these lines.”

“I’m not fucking reading that,” Vegeta snapped.

“But you promised!”

“The hell I did.”

“Vegeta!” she cajoled. “Don’t be such a pussy. It’s just you and me. What are you embarrassed about?”

“I’m embarrassed for whoever wrote this awful thing.”

“Would you just read the line for me, _PLEASE_?” she begged, exasperated.

Vegeta gave her an agitated glare. Then he turned his ire back to the script. His jaw worked, mentally chewing over the words before he finally managed to spit them out. “Hi, Miss…” he grimaced, almost sneering, before pushing on, his voice riddled with condescension. “Did you order a big load of cream?”

Bulma bit her lip. She tried her damnedest to bite back her laughter, she really did, but her snort gave her away.

Vegeta glowered at her. “Oh, _you’re_ laughing? This is _your_ big fucking porn debut. You’re going to be shooting this goddamn comedy of a script.”

Bulma wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Aw, c’mon, it’s not _that_ bad.”

Vegeta arched a brow and leaned over to read another line. “Can a little thing like you handle this milky delivery all by yourself?” He gave Bulma a wry look. “This has _got_ to be a goddamn parody. This is far worse than the shit they were saying when they filmed the other day.”

Bulma shrugged a shoulder. “Well yeah, I mean, they’re not going to waste a good script on a newbie like me, are they? Besides, I like it. It’s fun. It won’t be so… serious,” she said, glancing away, thumbing the script. Humor would be good, she figured. As excited as she was to try porn, thinking of fucking someone on camera was making her stomach churn with nervous butterflies. Being able to laugh about the scenario would take some of the pressure off… wouldn’t it? She hoped so.

“…Having second thoughts?” Vegeta’s voice cut in.

Bulma startled and looked at him. He was staring at her, his dark eyes watching her acutely. Bulma swallowed and forced a smile. “Who, me? And keep this gorgeous body all to myself?” she tried to joke.

Vegeta didn’t look convinced, but then again, he was skeptical about most things. His eyes drifted back to the script and he winced. “…I’m not nearly drunk enough for this shit,” he sighed, pinching his nose.

Bulma smiled, her heart melting. He was actually going to help her out. She had been expecting him to throw a fit over the script and storm off to his room. Bulma pushed the beer back into this hand. “Drink. I’ll make us something to eat.”

A couple hours later they were sat on the couch. Their emptied, dirtied plates lay on the coffee table, along with most of the beer bottles they had in the apartment. Perhaps she could blame it on the beer as to why her legs were hooked comfortably over Vegeta’s lap, her body curled up by his side, but it would be a lie. She often tried her best to snuggle up to him when they watched TV, and sometimes he even tolerated it, especially on night’s like this one, with a few drinks under his belt.

They were going over the script for… was it the fourth time? It was hard to keep track. They kept having to pause and redo scenes when one or the other of them started laughing, or complaining about the dialog. She was taking it somewhat seriously; she needed to for the job after all, but Vegeta had no such responsibility to learn the lines, and the more he drank, the more he seemed interested in criticizing the writing rather than helping her practice. But at least he had loosened up and wasn’t being such a prude anymore.

His free hand rested on her calf, idly massaging her. He read from the script. “Would you like to try a free sample?”

Bulma spoke her line from memory, watching his hand on her leg. “Only if it’s organic. I prefer my protein fresh from the source.”

Vegeta snorted. “Organic?” he mocked, arching a brow. “That’s not in the script.”

Bulma smirked at him knowingly. “Well, it should be.” Okay, so maybe she wasn’t taking it as seriously as she should have been.

Vegeta’s mouth twitched, the corner curling up. God, he looked positively sinful when he did that.

It made her stomach flip flop in a very pleasant way. She smiled back, nuzzling closer, magnetized by his wicked smirk. And he smelt great, the hint of soap from his shower and the earthy, masculine smell of him that she was growing more familiar with teased at her senses. He shifted his arm so he could better accommodate her. Holding her. It felt good, made her heart hammer and the room spin a little. Okay, well, that was probably the beer. She had drunk an awful lot of it. Vegeta too, judging by the pile of bottles on the table and the soft flush on his cheeks. The color suited him, made him appear far less scary and much more endearing… Damnit, Bulma, get it together, girl. This isn’t the time to be mooning. 

Vegeta stopped her thoughts from getting carried away by shaking the script. “This is awful.”

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, barely trusting herself to speak.

“How many goddamn milk puns do they have?” he asked, swapping the script for the last beer. “Are they even _trying_ to be creative?”

“Hey, I didn’t write it, I’m just doing it,” she defended lazily.

“Tch,” Vegeta replied. He took a drink and set the beer down, before flipping once more through the script’s pages. “Like here,” he pointed to a line. “He’s still calling her ‘miss’. What is sexy about that?”

Bulma thought about it. “Well, he _is_ a milk delivery guy. I guess it’s supposed to be in character?”

“Fuck character,” Vegeta replied. “Who is going to jerk it to that? Why not call her something appealing that actually drinks milk, like… a greedy kitten?”

Bulma’s brow arched up, surprised despite herself. Was Vegeta offering _suggestions_? Was Vegeta offering _dirty talk_ suggestions? “A what?” she asked.

“Here,” he insisted, tapping the script drunkenly. “This line. He should say, ‘Come here and gobble up this milk like a good little kitten’.”

_Oh. My. God…_

Bulma stared hopelessly at Vegeta. She was pretty sure her brain had just suffered some kind of critical failure, because she couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of Vegeta’s mouth, or the effect they were having on her suddenly skyrocketing libido. 

“What?” she stammered.

Vegeta glanced at her. “I said, come here and gobble up this milk like a good little kitten.”

Sweet merciful _god_.

He was staring _right at her_. She couldn’t look away. Bulma felt her cheeks redden and she barely suppressed the urge to press her thighs together, as if he might somehow know how turned on she suddenly was. She nodded slowly. “Y-yeah, you’re right, that’s better than ‘miss’.” She grabbed his beer and took a much-needed drink. 

Vegeta didn’t let up, still watching her even as she swallowed. “Or,” he said, his voice slurring with dark promise. “They could play on the bottle theme.” He nodded at the bottle in her hand. “Something like, ‘Here comes your bottle, baby, guzzle it all up’.”

Bulma nearly spat out her mouthful of beer.

Vegeta was smirking outright now, looking rather pleased with himself.

“OKAY, who _are_ you, and what did you do with Vegeta?” she demanded through a broadening smile. Who would have thought Vegeta could be so crude? And playful? It was a pleasant surprise.

“Hey, I’m just trying to make your shitty porn less shitty,” he drawled.

Bulma arched an amused brow. “Really? Where did you even learn to talk like that?”

He made a noncommittal sound, his fingers returning to massage her leg. “When you room with two sex crazed idiots who bring home the cheapest whores in the neighborhood, you hear a thing or two.”

“Ugh,” Bulma sympathized, scrunching her nose. “Sounds awful.”

“That doesn’t even rate highly on the list of their crap I had to tolerate.”

“No, I meant awful for them, having to deal with a prude like you,” Bulma teased.

He shot her an irritated glare. “Real cute. Do you want to hear my suggestions or not?”

“Oh my god, yes,” she grinned, leaning in, keen to hear every perverse thing he might have to say, knowing there was a good chance he would regret every word once sober. Vegeta glared at her for a heart beat longer, but was soon undone by her enthusiasm. He leaned in, and they huddled together like two conspirators exchanging secrets. 

“So at some point,” Vegeta mused, the script now forgotten, his voice lowering. “He definitely needs to say something like, ‘I’m gonna unload my hot delivery right inside your tiny box’.” The hand wrapped around her back started stroking her side.

“Oh shit, yes he does,” Bulma agreed, giddy with the thought. “And maybe, ‘I hope you’re not lactose intolerant’?”

Vegeta smirked. “‘You really know how to milk my cock with your tiny hands’.”

Bulma giggled. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “If he cums on her, I mean me, he should mention something about not crying over spilt milk.”

Vegeta leaned in so close his brow bunted hers. “Is that how it’s going to play out?” he asked, his fingers on her leg having moved up, now stroking her thigh, his other hand gripping her waist tightly, sending a thrill through her.

A distant voice in her head told her to lean away, that she was at the point of no return, but she ignored it, smiling and nuzzling in closer. “I don’t know. Like I said, the actual sex has yet to be worked out.”

Vegeta’s eyes trailed over her face, looking at her with a tender care. “…He should.”

“Should what?” she asked.

“Cum on you.”

Bulma felt her breath catch. Her inability to breathe only grew worse when Vegeta reached up, and thumbed her hair. “It would look good on you,” he said, his voice oddly soft. His thumb trailed down, ghosting over her face as if outlining an invisible trail of cum along her skin. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip and stopped.

Bulma’s heart was trying to beat its way right through her chest. Her whole body felt on fire, and she was throbbing between her thighs, her face tingling where he had touched her. Their eyes locked, his darker than usual. His cheeks flushed. She wet her lips nervously, and his gaze darted to the movement of her tongue. For a wild, fleeting heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Oh god, she wanted him to.

But he didn’t, because Vegeta wouldn’t do that. He had to be forced into doing anything remotely sexual. She had to _beg_ him just to look at her in her lingerie. She had needed to manipulate him into a blow job. What sane man wouldn’t have jumped at that chance? God, Vegeta just… wasn’t even interested in her, was he? He was just drunk. Maybe he was fucking with her, just making fun of her, and the script, the same way they made fun of the crappy dramas on TV. Or maybe he was getting back at her for all her teasing him about blow jobs. Jeez, just how easy was she? All Vegeta had to do was say a few perverse things with that gravely voice of his, and her panties were absolutely soaked. Damnit. No wonder porn interested her; she was no better than some goddamn slut. 

Bulma reached up and pulled his hand away as she lowered her eyes. “I’ll mention that to the director,” she said, clumsily disengaging and pulling her legs off his lap. She stood up, a little unsteady, and picked up the script. She dared a quick look at him. Vegeta’s brow was furrowed, his expression guarded. 

“Thanks for your help,” she said, and walked off to her room.

“What about your lines?” he called after her.

“It’s fine, I should practice by myself and stop troubling you.” 

She shut her bedroom door softly behind her and leaned against it. She had run away. She, Bulma Briefs, free spirited woman, confident, sexy, and fond of messing with men, had just run away from one. Shit. 

Bulma threw the script on her chair and went to her bedside drawer. Pulling it open, she revealed several of her vibrators. Bulma picked out a hot pink one, shimmied out of her clothes, and got into bed. She turned on some music, then her vibrator, and closed her eyes. The memory of Vegeta indirectly calling her a good little kitten re-played in her head as her hand slipped under the covers.

* * *

 

~xox~ 

 

Vegeta watched Bulma retreat, hearing the soft click as her door shut.

What the _fuck_. One minute he had her in his hands, in his goddamn lap, and the next, she was gone. He was hard as a fucking pole, actually willing _for once_ to be her goddamn porn guinea pig, and she had _gone to fucking bed_. 

Great. Just fucking _perfect_.

That goddamn cocktease.

Vegeta ran a hand over his face, trying to scrub the past couple of hours from his mind to little avail. Nope, the innuendo they had spoken and the wild scenarios he had imaged thanks to that ridiculous script were solidly implanted in his brain, and the buzz of alcohol was making it harder than usual to enact his iron clad will over his thoughts. 

Goddamn her, how did she do this to him? From day fucking one she had been toying with him, even BEFORE all this goddamn porn business, but now that this ridiculous ‘job’ had started, her inadvertent flirting was ten times as worse. If it even _was_ inadvertent. Vegeta had been getting the impression that maybe she was using the porn as some kind of excuse. But that idea had just been blown out of the room, because she had left him here, hard in his pants and torn up on the inside. He couldn’t shake the image of her with cum on her pretty face. Why the fuck was that _so arousing_?! He had never been into that before. Not that he had really been into _any_ kind of thing before. Women had always ranked pretty lowly on his list of distractions. When he did bother with them, there was very little messing around involved. But Bulma was turning his whole idea of sex about on his goddamn head.

Fuck it. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he had worked out his… frustration. Vegeta stood up, ignoring the mess in the living area despite knowing that he would be yelled at for it later, and stumbled over to his bedroom. He glanced once at Bulma’s door, half tempted to bang on it and shout at her. About what, he didn’t know. He just felt the need to vent his frustration at her, sexual or otherwise. Maybe she would yell back at him. Perhaps she would wrench the door open and they would scream and fight like they often did. She would probably be half dressed as per fucking usual, looking and smelling so soft and pretty and _goddamn unattainable_. Her face would flush with anger while they shouted, her eyes sparkling brightly with righteous fury. And then he would put two fingers right between her breasts and shove her back onto her bed, watch with a satisfied smirk as she toppled over, her face contorting with shock and outrage. He would let his eyes linger obviously on her splayed legs, admiring the view, until she blushed and tried to close her thighs. But he would stop her, keep her legs spread apart. She would fight him, for only a moment, before giving in, because secretly she wanted it too. She would watch him with those big, blue eyes of hers, her pink lips parted, her cheeks flushed, as he pulled her panties off…

Fuck.

Vegeta stormed into his room and shut the door, pulling out his cock without even taking off his pants. He pressed a hand to the wall between his room and hers. He could hear music playing, something with a steady bass. Music to fuck to. Goddamn her. It would serve the little cocktease right, to just storm in there and fuck her, teach her that there were consequences to her teasing. He bet her skin was just as creamy and soft under her lingerie as the rest of her was. His fingers still tingled with the texture of her skin from where he had been touching her thigh only minutes before. Had she even noticed? Was he that sexually unthreatening to her? Goddamnit, she needed to be put in her place, to learn that he couldn’t just be fucked with. Everyone understood that just from looking at him. Why didn’t she?

And why did he let her get away with it? It wasn’t just because she was letting him stay here for free. No, he might have cut her some slack because of that at first, but fuck, it was more than that now. He was feeling kind of possessive over her. He felt… responsible, like he had to protect her. It was the only thing he had to offer her in lieu of a salary, but he had grown accustomed to the role of bodyguard. After all, how had someone so spoiled and tiny like her survived this long on her own without being taken for a ride? He felt like if he left her, she would end up in some kind of trouble, and that had his stomach twisting up in knots. Since when did he start to care about anyone except himself? Since at least now, apparently. She was giving him anxiety. How did someone so smart and resourceful make some of the stupidest decisions possible? Just look at this goddamn porn business she was getting herself into. The girl didn’t make smart choices. She had invited _him_ to her place after all, and that hadn’t been very smart. He could have done _anything_ to her, he didn’t exactly scream ‘trustworthy’. Yet maybe she knew something he didn’t, because here he fucking was, jerking off to the thought of her rather than storming in and taking what he so easily could.

And it would be so easy to take it, because with the way she acted, he thought — hoped — that she would be willing. Vegeta squeezed his shut eyes tighter and pressed his brow to the wall, willing himself in his mind’s eye into her room, hoping to find her there, touching herself, thinking of him. Or maybe they were back on the couch, only this time she didn’t leave. This time she made good on her promise and gave him another blow job, taking all of his cock down that pretty throat of hers. But no, fuck, that’s not what he wanted, he didn’t want to give her the upper hand this time. He wanted to have her under him, to have her mewling and coming undone because of him. He wanted to feel what it was like to fuck her, to cum inside of her, and to have her cum on his cock. He wanted to fuck her, in her precious little bed, in the goddamn shower, in the fucking backroom of the bar where they had met, or on the porn set, with everyone else watching, everyone else staring jealously as _he_ fucked her and _he_ made her cum and _he_ shot his load inside her tight little pussy…

Vegeta choked back a groan as he spilled himself into his hand, his fingers curling against the bedroom wall. He felt lightheaded, knees weak. He gasped and looked down at the mess that he had made.

And it struck him.

He had cum, thinking of her. Of cumming in her. 

On set, no less.

….What the _fuck_?

 

* * *

~xoXox~ 

 

 **AN:** beta-read by **Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp ^_^**

If you’re not following stupidoomdoodles, you’re missing out on some **AMAZING NSFW On Set smutty art** , I’m telling you guys. DAMN.  
****

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he’d be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist, illustrator extraordinaire and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer and ideas woman) can be found on **twitter** , **tumblr** etc. We’d love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^

 


	5. 05 - O(h)  [NSFW illustrated]

**On Set**

**-05 O(h)-**

 

“Vegeta!”

Vegeta flinched while glaring at the inside of the refrigerator and the meager contents on its shelves. There was beer, which he quickly dismissed. Drinking alcohol hadn’t appealed to him, not since that night on the couch which had led to a drunken jerk off with the image of Bulma burnt into his brain. It was something he still regretted doing. He was having a hell of a time trying to bottle up all those damn images, to stop them from creeping up when unwanted, such as when he worked out, or when she bumped familiarly against him, their arms brushing against each other on the couch, forcing him to subtly adjust his hard on without her noticing.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be picturing her that way. It wasn’t supposed to _mean_ anything; that’s what she had said. And he agreed; except apparently his dick didn’t, because it still eagerly came to attention whenever he recalled the way her mouth had felt…

“Vegeta!” Bulma called for him again from somewhere off inside the apartment. He winced, still trying to ignore her, and glared harder into the refrigerator, looking for something to eat.

The condiments stared back at him. He frowned; those wouldn’t satisfy. He found some limp vegetables in the crisping drawer. Nothing particularly tasty there either. The sole thing that caught his eye was a packet of raw chicken breasts. Only, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to cook it, but he was acutely aware of how unpleasant it could be to consume poorly cooked chicken. A memory came back to haunt him: Raditz, Nappa and himself fighting over the toilet one night, after Raditz had served up pink chicken. Of course, Vegeta had won the toilet rights. Not that it felt like much of a victory at the time. He had never been so sick in his life, wondering if he was going to die as he threw up into the toilet, Raditz and Nappa dying in similar misery behind him, the two buffoons attempting to share the kitchen sink.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to repeat _that_ again. Which meant asking the woman to cook the meat for him. Or demand that she go out and buy something. Either way, he would have to talk to Bulma, which meant he couldn’t ignore whatever it was she was yelling at him about. Goddamn her and her nagging, if she was going to lecture him about cleaning again, he was going to-

“Vegeta,” Bulma said, her voice much closer this time.

He sighed, shutting the refrigerator door. “What is it-ARGH, FUCKING FUCK!”

Vegeta covered his eyes with his hand and turned away from the sight of her, standing behind the refrigerator door, topless. Bulma was only wearing her jeans and the saddest look he had ever seen.

“Vegeta, is there something wrong with my breasts?”

Oh no. No, no, no… Why did she do this to him? 

He kept his head turned, fingers pressed deeply into his eyelids, his jaw tensing in anger. “BULMA, GO PUT ON A GODDAMN SHIRT. OR BRA. OR ANYTHING, PLEASE. FUCK.”

“Vegeta, I’m serious…” she whined. Her voice was uncharacteristically glum, grating on his nerves, pulling on his gut. Curse her. He found himself lowering his hand, and he cautiously glanced over his shoulder, looking at her face _and nothing else_. 

Dejected. That was all he read from her face as he took in the sad pull of her mouth and the wavering uncertainty in her mournful blue eyes. It wasn’t an expression he often saw on her. 

Bulma glanced down at her breasts. “Do you notice anything?”

Vegeta’s expression became pained. She was really going to make him do this, wasn’t she? He side-eyed their window. The blinds were wide fucking open. Making a frustrated sound, Vegeta snatched up a nearby kitchen cloth and threw it at her chest in an attempt to cover her, before he stomped over to the window and tugged down their shitty blinds. He wasn’t about to let anyone else get a free goddamn viewing, even if _she_ didn’t seem concerned by it.

With that taken care of, he turned back towards her, seeing Bulma clutch the cloth to her chest. Thank fucking god. Her expression was still miserable, and she waited for him in the kitchen, a small, uncertain thing. Vegeta sighed through his nose, caving. He approached her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The fuck are you going on about?” he asked wearily, knowing he would regret getting involved, but what other fucking choice did he have?

“My boobs,” Bulma said, looking at him with big, sad eyes. “One is bigger than the other. Can you tell? Is it noticeable?”

Really? _That’s_ what this was about? Vegeta grit his teeth and took in a very slow breath to keep himself from exploding and telling her that she shouldn’t give a shit about something so unfathomably stupid. Clearly, she did give a shit. He tightened his arms over his chest and spoke slowly so as to sound calmer than he felt. “If that’s true, I haven’t noticed.”

Bulma looked at him, searching his face for the truth of his words, her blue eyes filled with vulnerability. “But it’s more noticeable without anything… supporting them. You haven’t seen properly.”

His fingers clenched over his arms. “Hadn’t,” he corrected dryly.

She rolled her eyes. “Just now doesn’t count. You just squealed and turned away.”

“I did NOT _squeal_. And I saw enough.”

“Wow, really, Vegeta? One peek and you’re scarred for life?” Bulma asked, clutching the cloth tighter to her chest, her bottom lip pouting fiercely. “Most men would be _jumping_ at the chance to see a beautiful woman’s breasts!”

“Then go show _them_ ,” Vegeta snapped back, losing his cool despite his best intentions.

The flash of hurt across her face was evident, even for an insensitive asshole like himself. 

Her mouth turned down, and she glanced away, clutching the cloth to her breasts defensively. “…Are they really that bad?” she asked, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her.

Goddamn her. Goddamn her and her stupid, sad face, and her stupid, gut-twisting power over him. His jaw worked and his temple throbbed. He knew what it was going to take to get her to shut up and he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared for it.

…Fuck it.

“Show me,” he growled.

She glanced at him, her eyes showing her surprise. But the cloth remained.

He was losing his patience and his goddamn nerve over his decision. “Well? Are you going to show me your lopsided breasts or not?”

“Oh my GOD, Vegeta, THEY ARE NOT LOPSIDED!” she shouted back, horrified. 

“Then why are we even discussing this!” he replied, his voice rising to meet hers.

Bulma threw the cloth at his face. He tilted his head to the side, easily avoiding it. He glared at her and she glared back, putting her hands on her hips. Once again, she was nude from the waist up. 

“Well?” she demanded, trying to sound angry, but he could hear the doubt in her voice.

He breathed out through his nose like a caged bull. His fingers dug into his biceps. He forced himself to look down and not flinch away from the sight of her bared breasts. 

Goddamnit. Of course they were fucking perfect, just like the rest of her. Just as he suspected they would be from all the times she had bounced around him in her lingerie or tight little tops, haunting him both in reality during the day and in his fantasies at night… His heart beat accelerated just at the sight. Her jeans hugged her hips. Her slender, pale waist curved up towards her exposed chest. Her breasts were phenomenal; round, and appearing powdery soft. Her nipples, tiny and pink, pebbled in the cool air of the kitchen. Vegeta’s groin tightened. He pushed aside the desire to run his thumbs over her pert nipples. He allowed himself a good, long look, not just for himself, but for her sake too.

Then, finally, he raised his gaze back to hers. “They’re fine.”

“Fine?” she asked, not sounding reassured.

His jaw tensed. What else did she fucking want him to say? “Yes,” he growled, growing more uncomfortable by the second. “They’re… nice.” He looked away.

“Really?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he snapped. “They’re… big, and they look soft and… They’re _fine_ , okay? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“…Do you want to feel?”

Vegeta’s head snapped back to look at her. He could barely force himself to reply without his voice getting caught in his throat. “Wh-what?”

She gave him a small, shy smile. “Well, you said they looked soft. Let me know what you think.”

Oh god. Oh fuck. What the shit was she playing at now? 

She didn’t give him the chance to question her further. Bulma reached out and tugged on his hands, still crossed defensively over his chest. “Here, it’s okay. I want you to feel. I need to get used to other people touching me.”

He swallowed again. They both knew he could have resisted, his strength monumental next to hers, but she gently pulled and he let her pry his arms apart. She guided his hands to her breasts. Oh god, they were even softer than he had imagined, cupped in his rough, calloused palms. His brain short-circuited, feeling the warm plumpness of her in his hands. His thumbs twitched, still aching to touch her nipples, but fuck, he didn’t know if that was acceptable. How would she react if he took the initiative? Would she moan if he brushed his thumbs against her? Would she gasp? Slap him? 

“What do you think?” she asked, cocking her head to see his reaction, smiling cutely.

Vegeta felt like he was dying. This was pure, fucking torture. “Great,” he choked out.

“Porn worthy?”

He nodded dumbly. 

Bulma grinned, her confidence returned. She squeezed his hands before pulling them away. His mouth tightened against an unfamiliar feeling of… Regret? Disappointment? 

Keeping their fingers interlocked, Bulma leaned in, kissing his cheek. “Thanks.”

“Tch,” he scowled, fighting back a blush as he jerked his face away from her. “Can you please put something on now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, and let his hands go, running her fingers through her hair. “Can’t you have too distracted by my perfect breasts, can we?” she teased, winking at him before she turned and sashayed away. He watched her, his eyes lingering on her waist, watching the sway of her jean-clad ass. It wasn’t until she was out of sight that he realized he was still staring, toying with the idea of following her into her room…

Vegeta shook away the fantasy and rubbed at his cheek in annoyance. He looked back at the fridge. Fuck. He hadn’t asked her about the goddamn chicken. 

“When you’re done covering yours, there’s some breasts out here that need your attention!” he shouted after her.

“What?”

“The chicken!”

“Oh. Alright, give me a minute!”

He would like to give her _something,_ and it would take more than a goddamn minute. Vegeta swore under his breath and left the kitchen, figuring he had time for a quick shower and jerk off before food would be ready.

 

~xox~ 

 

Bulma let the bedroom door snick shut behind her. She pressed her back against it, bringing a hand to rest over her pounding heart. Her knees felt weak, her nipples hard. Okay, what the hell had happened? She had only wanted a little reassurance, not a pair of wet panties and a throbbing desire for Vegeta’s rough hands to touch more than just her breasts…

“When you’re done covering yours, there’s some breasts out here that need your attention!” Vegeta yelled from the kitchen.

“What?” she called back, barely keeping her voice steady as she tried to calm down.

“The chicken!” he growled impatiently.

“Oh.” He was hungry. Typical. “Alright, give me a minute!” she called back. She closed her eyes and took a few shaky breaths, trying to pacify the liquid lust that burned throughout her. By the time she gathered herself together and had thrown on a bra and shirt, Vegeta was in the bathroom, the sound of the shower coming out  from behind the door. Bulma headed to the kitchen and started cooking, allowing the day’s events to replay over in her mind.

* * *

 

~xox~ 

 

Bulma couldn’t sleep.

She had been staring at her bedroom ceiling for close to an hour now. Tomorrow was the big day. Finally. Her porn shoot.

She was nervous, and excited. But mostly nervous.

Not that she needed to be. Kame Studios had been really kind to her the last couple weeks, talking her through the upcoming process, going over what she would and wouldn’t be comfortable with. The director, Roshi, had even said she could bring her ‘short, scary friend’, if it would make her feel more comfortable. And oddly enough, it did. Vegeta had quickly become her main form of support. Even if he didn’t say anything or do anything, and just stood there in the studios, her large, surly bouncer, Bulma knew she would feel better for his presence.

Still, she was nervous. Bulma had already spent two hours in the bathroom, primping and examining herself from every angle to be ready for the cameras. She had even asked Vegeta to check her out. Unfortunately, Vegeta had grown wise to her by now, and threatened not to go with her to the studios if he came and found her naked in the bathroom. She had pouted, resigned to making do with her own self-assessment. 

After all, she knew she looked beautiful. And she was confident in her sexual abilities. She was working with a good team. What was there to be worried about? …Well, just one thing, one nagging insecurity that she couldn’t put to rest.

How did she look like when she came?

What was her ‘o’ face like? Did she look pretty when she came, or did her face scrunch horribly? Embarrassingly? Oh god, what if she did something… weird, when she came? Maybe she made a face, or grimaced? What if Roshi had to cut the filming, and ask her for a reshoot? Would she have to cum on demand? Should she just fake it from the start? Would she even be convincing if she tried? 

Bulma’s insecurities grew, spinning around and around her mind, chipping away at her confidence. Finally, she reached for her phone, and pulled up Eighteen’s number. She paused when she saw the time. Shoot, it was late, far too late to interrupt her new colleague just to ask if it was better to cum naturally on camera or not. She would have to ask Eighteen tomorrow.

But she couldn’t sleep. She had to know, _right now_ , how she looked when she came. 

Well, there is this little thing called a smart phone that has a camera, you know…

Oh, right. Duh.

Mentally patting herself on the back for such a clever idea, Bulma set up her smartphone on her nightstand, trying to balance it to record herself. She reached for her drawer of toys but stopped. She normally played music to muffle the buzz of a vibrator, but it was far too late at night to be doing that. And if she didn’t play music, Vegeta still might hear the whirr of her toy. Bulma didn’t need Vegeta banging on the wall to make her feel any more self-conscious than she already did. Besides, now that she thought about it, she wouldn’t have a vibrator on set, so she should probably practice without one.

Bulma got comfortable under the blankets, wearing only a pink tank top and white panties. She double-checked that her face was in frame on her smart phone’s camera, before she ran her hands along her body, over her breasts, down her sides and belly, dipping underneath the hem of her panties. She let out a soft sigh as she pried the lips of her pussy apart with her left hand, her right rubbing little circles against her clit, teasing herself with building excitement.

Bulma glanced at the phone, looking at herself in the front facing camera. She looked so… impassive. Well, she _had_ only just started. Bulma tried biting her lip to look more alluring, arching back a little, experimenting with different expressions and poses. She was biting on her fingers when it occurred to her she had stopped pleasuring herself, too focused on playing up to the camera. Damnit.

Forget about the camera, you idiot. 

Bulma looked away from her phone and closed her eyes, resisting the temptation of staring at herself. She tried to let go, allowing the sensation of her fingers rubbing against herself to take over her thoughts. She sighed, falling into a familiar rhythm, feeling herself getting wet. An ache built between her legs, throbbing pleasantly. It was starting to feel good… Did she look good, too?

Bulma glanced back at the phone before she could stop herself.

She looked flushed, pretty, as far as she could judge these things. But that wasn’t the problem, and there definitely was a problem. 

She could only see her face properly when she was turned towards the camera. In the throes of cumming, she would have to turn and look directly at her phone, and she doubted she could make a natural ‘o’ face under those circumstances. Damnit, this wasn’t going to work, not with the phone placed where it was.

Fuck. 

Now frustrated on top of being half aroused, Bulma snatched up her phone. She held her arm straight up, the camera above her head, and closed her eyes. She tried touching herself again, hoping she could cum before her arm got tired. She peeked open an eye. Her face was drifting out of view as her arm waved unsteadily. She tried adjusting her grip. As she did, the phone slipped from her fingers, and hit her square in the face.

“Ow. _Fuck_ ,” she spat out angrily into the room.

This was a disaster. She couldn’t even cum by herself in front of her phone. How the hell was she going to do it tomorrow? Let go with a stranger between her thighs, a camera in her face, and a crew watching the whole thing with practiced, critical eyes?

Bulma pressed a hand over her face, taking a shaky breath, her confidence nose-diving by the second. She needed help, someone to reassure her, re-inflate her ego. But the only person good for that would probably have an utter conniption if she bothered him right now…

Bulma glanced at the wall between her room and Vegeta’s. Was he asleep? It was late, but that didn’t mean he was asleep. She often heard him get up at night to rummage in the kitchen, or watch the TV at low volume when he felt restless.

Bulma picked up her phone from where it had slid to her pillow. She opened up her messages. Vegeta was at the top of her recent conversations, his last message calling her a prissy bitch when she had complained about him keeping her waiting in the cold. 

 _Are you awake_? She typed. Her thumb hesitated over the send button. He was probably asleep, and even if he wasn’t, there was no way he was going to help her out. Was there? Still, she sent the message before she chickened out.

Through the wall, she heard the soft buzz of his phone vibrate. 

She waited.

A few moments later her own phone buzzed. She smiled, unlocking her screen.

 _I am now,_ his text read. _Why the fuck are you still awake at this hour?_

 _Can’t sleep_ , she replied.

_No shit._

Bulma hesitated again. She started typing a reply. Then deleted it. She thought for a minute, half typed a new reply, then deleted that, suddenly indecisive. She was trying to compose another message when her phone buzzed again, his text popping up on her screen.

_Bulma. What the fuck do you want?_

Bulma sighed, giving up on trying to be delicate.

 _Can you come to my room_? She finally typed out and sent, her stomach twisting nervously as she waited for his response.

She waited, and waited. Finally, she heard his door open, his feet padding along the corridor floor. Her own door creaked open. Bulma sat up as Vegeta peered in, squinting against the light of her lamp. His hair was rumpled, his eyes tired. He was dressed in only thin track pants, his chest and feet bare. Bulma had seen him topless before, but it was still a rare and pleasant enough sight that she let her eyes linger, admiring his rippling muscles. As she looked him over, he eyed her back, warily. He was probably skeptical of her state of undress. But when he saw her in a tank top and covered by her blankets, he stepped inside her room.

“What?” he snapped at her grumpily. “You’ve got five seconds to spit it out or I’m going back to bed.”

Bulma swallowed nervously. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

“…I need you to watch me cum.”

 

~xox~ 

 

Vegeta sighed tiredly. He pushed a hand through his bed-messed hair. “Come on, Bulma. It’s late. Why am I here?” he asked her, too weary to play her bullshit games. He wasn’t in the mood to be teased. She better have a damn good reason for calling him here, or else he was going to grab the nearest pillow and suffocate her with it.

Even in the dim light of her room, he could see the humiliation flash across her face, just before she buried her head in her knees. Oh no. She wasn’t teasing him. She had been goddamn serious.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Nothing. Never mind,” she mumbled miserably to her knees.

Vegeta hesitated. Doubt wasn’t a familiar feeling, or one that sat well for him. He always knew exactly what to do, all his life trusting in his gut, or following Frieza’s orders. That had rarely led him astray (although a few times it _had_ led him to jail). Nevertheless, he seldom needed to be delicate, not unless you considered negotiating a deal in the blackmarkets as ‘delicate’. Yet living with Bulma had forced Vegeta into developing a new set of skills, ones desperately needed to sidestep the precariously placed land mines of her innocent-seeming requests. _Do you like my hair like this? Do these jeans make me look fat? Would you watch my porn?_ But whatever skills he had acquired were failing him now. Vegeta felt the ‘click’ of his foot treading on this latest land mine, and he was stuck, unable to get off without blowing them both up.

Watch her _cum_? Was she fucking serious?! What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? How the hell could they go back to being just roommates if he agreed to that? Or worse, if he didn’t agree to it. Would she forgive him if he just walked away? Doubtful. Fuck. It didn’t matter how he responded, either way he was doomed, _they_ were doomed, because their already fucked-up relationship hinged upon his response. Fuck. _FUCK._ And all of that wasn’t even the worst part. 

The worst fucking part was: _he was dying to say yes._

Watch her cum? Jesus fuck, for days he had been imagining nothing else _but_ her cumming.

Bulma was still hiding her face in her knees, looking so small and fragile against her cream blanket. Ashamed. Damnit… Vegeta sighed, and prayed that he wasn’t going to have to fight a hobo for a park bench after tonight. He lightly shut her door and approached her bed. He sat on the far side, staring off to the side, keeping her in his peripheral vision. 

“…Why the fuck do you want me to do that?” he asked her, his voice soft.

Her fingers tightened on the blanket. “…I need to know that I don’t look ridiculous when I cum.”

Of course she fucking would. He should have known she would be freaking out about the shoot tomorrow. She had been talking about little else the last few days, gloating and preening. Yet when she didn’t think he was watching, he had seen the worried crease of her brow, and the way she stared more critically than usual at her reflection in the mirror. 

He was stressed about the shoot in his own way too. Bulma’s text message hadn’t woken him. He hadn’t been sleeping a goddamn wink, his mind bouncing between arousal and anger at the idea of watching her getting fucked on the morrow… So if he was going to see her cum tomorrow on set, did it really matter if he watched her cum now? Only it did. It mattered a whole fucking lot. Watching her put on a show in front of a crew for a paycheck wasn’t nearly the same thing as her cumming in private, just for him and her shattered nerves.

Bulma interrupted his thoughts, still speaking from behind her knees. “ I… I need to know I can do this in front of people, and… You’re the only one I trust to show.”

Her confession punched him in the gut. Trust? She _trusted_ him? It really shouldn’t have surprised him. Bulma was letting him live with her after all; that required some level of trust. They ate together, shopped together, slept in the same apartment or sometimes on the same damn couch when it was late and the movie wasn’t particularly interesting and they passed out until one of them woke up and encouraged the other to go to bed… Bulma hadn’t just let him into her home, she had let him into her _life_. And he shouldn’t have cared, that was none of his goddamn business who she did or didn’t trust, but hearing her say those words, hearing her say she trusted him, _only_ him, triggered a reaction Vegeta hadn’t expected he would ever feel.

Damn her.

He was getting attached, letting her get too close. If he was smart, he should have gotten up, grabbed all his belongings, and left, never looking back. 

Instead, he found himself looking at her tiny hunched form. It tore at him to see her so despondent. Gruffly he said, “Okay.”

 

~xox~ 

 

Bulma raised her head enough to peek at Vegeta over her knees. The shadows from the light of the lamp played over his skin, highlighting the sharp lines of his muscles. He looked like a painting. She stared, finding it easier to admire his body than acknowledge the magnitude of what he had just agreed to.

She finally raised her eyes to meet his. His dark, onyx gaze was hard to read in the shadows. But what really made her uneasy was the lack of his trademark scowl or sneer.

He was actually taking her seriously. And he had _agreed_.

Her heart skipped a beat. Several, in fact, leaving her lightheaded with disbelief. 

For a moment, Bulma doubted if she could go ahead with her proposal. This suddenly felt like a bad idea. It was far too… personal. Just him and her. But if she couldn’t masturbate in front of Vegeta, how was she going to cum in front of everyone else tomorrow? No, she had to do this, for herself, and for the shoot.

“Are you sure?” she asked him.

The hint of a familiar frown pulled at his brows. “Bulma. Do you want me to fucking watch or not?”

She smirked, his annoyance familiar and reassuring. She knew it well. He was trying to hide his embarrassment. Her hesitancy melted away. This was just Vegeta. She could do this with him. “Yeah.”

“Then don’t question it, alright?” he said, sounding more unsure about his decision than she was. 

“Okay, you got it, big guy,” she agreed with a soft smile. She laid back against her plush pillows, once again getting comfortable. She flashed Vegeta a coy look, her hands toying with the blankets. “Are you, uh, comfortable? Can you see okay over there?”

“Fine,” he grunted. He didn’t really look at ease, sitting tensely on the edge of her bed, but Bulma wasn’t about to question him. 

“Alright. Well… I’m going to start now,” she announced. Her cheeks were burning. She slowly pulled the blanket back, revealing her thin tank top and panties. She didn’t know why she felt so suddenly shy revealing herself to him. She loved showing off, and it was hardly the first time she had done so in front of Vegeta. But this was… a whole new level of uncovering. It was _intimate_.

Vegeta’s Adam apple bobbed. He remained respectfully still, watching from the opposite end of the bed. His shoulders were tense, his arms braced stiffly on the bed. His face, expressionless, his black eyes watching her, unreadable. It made her feel uncertain. She lowered her eyes and tried to bolster her courage as she pushed her hand beneath her panties. 

She swallowed nervously. Her eyes darted to her silent watcher. Vegeta hadn’t moved, and wasn’t saying a word. His gaze was as heavy as a predator’s. Her heart thudded wildly. Did he like what he saw? She didn’t have the slightest clue. Vegeta gave nothing away. She looked away, not brave enough to keep eye contact while she touched herself. Okay, girl, just get started, and it will get better from there… Bulma pressed her finger to her clit, and slowly started massaging herself.

But it didn’t get better. She didn’t have to look to know Vegeta was still watching, and somehow that was making things _worse_ because she _couldn’t read him_. She stole a glance at his face, trying to assess if he liked what he saw. But he was a goddamn statue, giving nothing away. Was he bored? Should she be playing it up more, putting on more of a show for him? Moaning? Writhing? She would have to do that tomorrow, wouldn’t she? God, this was much harder than she thought it would be. He was probably regretting agreeing to watch. Even now he was probably cringing on the inside, or chastising her for being ridiculous. Look at little Bulma, pretending to be a porn star…

Stop it, Bulma, you’re psyching yourself out!

_I know!_

Bulma cringed and stopped touching herself. She clamped her thighs over her right hand, and covered her face with her left. “S-sorry, I just… I just need a minute to get into the mood,” she stammered, wanting to sink into her bed and hope that her mattress would swallow her up, that she should never have to face Vegeta or the world again.

It was painfully, frustratingly quiet, Vegeta silent, only the sound of her breaths echoing in her ears. God, she felt so stupid, like an insecure virgin. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to feel sexy, empowered, and _desired_ , just like in her recent fantasies when she imagined a certain not-so-tall, dark, and handsome man breaking down her door and ravaging her. 

But she wasn’t feeling desired.

And Vegeta wasn’t breaking down any doors to get to her.

Bulma, you stupid, _stupid_ girl…

The bed suddenly shifted as Vegeta got up. Oh, no, _no_. Please… _please_ don’t go and leave me now… Bulma didn’t think she could take him leaving, not when she was feeling so embarrassed and vulnerable. God, if he left now, she wasn’t sure she could hold back the tears…

The bed dipped at her side as a weight joined her. Bulma sucked in a startled breath and glanced over, her hand dropping away from her face. Vegeta was sliding down next to her. Her eyes widened, watching as he got comfortable, propping his head on his hand to look down at her. He wore the same dark gaze from before, only now, just inches away, she could see the heat in his eyes that the shadows had hidden from view. He was looking right at her, holding her gaze as if nothing else in the world mattered but her.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he told her in a low voice. “I’m just getting comfortable.”

Bulma swallowed, forgetting how to breathe. She nodded mutely, unable to look away.

He didn’t say anything else, just waited patiently, and kept her gaze. 

Bulma gave him a small, grateful smile. “Okay. I’m going to try again.”

He gave a small nod of acknowledgement, his eyes flicking briefly to where her hand was hidden under her panties, then back to her face.

Encouraged, Bulma closed her eyes and started touching herself again. It felt better this time with his weight right next to her. Comfortable even. She could feel the heat radiating off him, feel his breath ghost her cheek as he exhaled. She let her own breath out in a soft sigh, almost a moan as she fingered her core, encouraging herself to get wet. Oh, it felt nice… This was actually going to work, she was going to cum in front of Vegeta, with him _right there_ next to her.

She got more and more worked up, and as she did, it became harder and harder to not roll over, to press herself against him. She ached to nuzzle his jaw, to press her mouth to his. The more aroused she felt, the less interested she became in having a watcher, and the more she yearned for a participant.

But she would have one, tomorrow. Bulma frowned, feeling trepidation creep back up. Would her partner tomorrow be attractive? Would he be any good? He would have to be good, wouldn’t he, being a porn star and all. But what if he did something… weird. What if she couldn’t get into it with him? Was she allowed to use lube? Could she really go through with it, fucking someone she wasn’t into?

Damnit, she was losing focus _again_. Her hand slowed, her arousal diminishing. This whole exercise was a train wreck! How the hell was she going to succeed tomorrow with all the distractions of a film set, when she couldn’t even concentrate on sex now, with only one silent onlooker?

Something brushed her leg and she gasped, startled her out of her thoughts. Vegeta barely touched his fingertips to her thigh, but the sudden contact electrified her.

His eyes were locked to her face. 

“You don’t have to do this by yourself, do you?” he asked.

Bulma blinked at him, startled, her mind reeling to catch up to his train of thought. “By myself?”

“Tomorrow. Your co-star will be doing this for you.”

“Oh… Yes, probably.”

Vegeta considered her answer for a moment. His jaw worked, and, his voice incredibly low, said “Let me.”

Her heart was pounding. Exploding. Time slowing down. “L-let you what?”

“Make you cum.”

 

~xox~ 

 

Vegeta watched her reaction carefully, his gut clenching anxiously. He could hardly believe what he had said, the words offered before he could think to stop them. He had just wanted to soothe her. He could see her discomfort, see her struggling to keep momentum. He knew that look creeping over her face, the familiar furrowed brow and pursing of her lips; she made that face whenever something really pissed her off, right before she screamed colorfully and stomped off. 

He didn’t want her to quit, not now. Not when she was half dressed, with her fingers in her cunt. Not when he was already half hard just from the sight of her, her soft, breathy sighs clawing at his sanity. But her sighs were fading as she got wrapped up in whatever insecurities were now plaguing her thoughts.

But he knew his offer wasn’t purely altruistic. It was true she wouldn’t be cumming alone tomorrow. And while he could play off his suggestion as simple ‘practice’, Vegeta knew he had more selfish motivations than that. It was about him wanting to touch her. How could it fucking not be? She was perfect; pale limbs, soft curves, flushed cheeks. And she had been giving him the worst case of blue balls lately. Goddamn if he wasn’t looking for some kind of reward for all the shit she had made him endure. It was now or never, because after tomorrow’s shoot, all this would end. She would get her porn check and cash it, and then life would return to normal as she went about looking for a _real_ job, and harassing him to do the same. There would be no more lingerie, no more boobs hiding behind the refrigerator door, no more ‘practice’. So before they went back to being normal roommates, Vegeta wanted to be a little fucking selfish, and finger her until she squirmed.

If she would let him.

She still hadn’t answered. 

Bulma lay frozen on the bed, staring at him with impossibly wide eyes that glittered in the lamp light. 

Oh fuck. He had crossed a line, hadn’t he? Damnit, way to fuck it up, asshole… He lowered his gaze, starting to retract his hand.

“…Okay,” she abruptly said.

He paused, looking back at her, unsure if he had heard correctly. A pink blush crept over her cheeks, her eyes still watching him. Bulma retracted her hand from her panties, and touched it to his. Her fingers were wet. She was touching him with _her_ _juices on her goddamn fingers_. He could smell her too, a sweet, feminine musk assailing his nostrils. It was messing with his head, making him feel drunk, dazed, aching to get a nose-full of more.

 _Holy shit_.

She picked up his hand, and he let her. She was probably the only person in the world he allowed to touch him so casually. Her fingers were so slender and pale next to his. He watched, transfixed, as she guided his hand underneath her panties. A small breath escaped his lips when his fingers encountered feathery hair, and then down further, the soft warmth of her pussy. 

Holy _shit_ , he was touching her.

“Please,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. It was just the two of them in the room, but to Vegeta they were the only two people in the whole world. Nothing else existed beyond the bedroom walls. There was only her, and his fingers smoothing over the cleft of her sex, touching the tip of her clit in between. 

She gasped, her blue eyes begging for more. “Like this,” she said. She guided him, slipping his finger between her lips, pressing it over her clit a certain way, moving his finger in small, teasing circles.

Thank Christ she did, because Vegeta didn’t think he had the capacity - or experience - to know what to fucking do. Had he ever fingered a woman to completion? No, not that he could recall. Sex had barely been a blip in the radar of his life, and those times he had fucked, he rarely gave his partner much consideration. But right now, Vegeta was compelled, _obsessed_ with the need to make Bulma cum. And cum hard.

Payback, he told himself. Revenge for her blow job.

Vegeta followed her directions to the T, priding himself on being a fast learner. Soon enough, she let her hand fall away, giving him full control. She crooned in pleasure as he teased her tight little nub. He worked her that way for minutes, feeling her relax under his touch. His gaze trailed over her exposed belly, over her nipples, peaked under her thin tank top, just begging to be kissed, and over her pretty, flushed face.

She was watching him from under half-lidded eyes, her mouth slightly parted, panting. One hand lay by her temple, her fingers curled, clenching as he teased her. He let his finger dip a little lower, rubbing against her slickness. Bulma’s breath hitched, her hips pushing against him.

Fuck. He wasn’t mentally equipped for how hot this was. _He_ was doing this to her. _He_ was making her feel good. Against his thigh, his cock was throbbing, swelling. He hoped she didn’t notice, worried it might spoil the mood. He would never forgive himself if he fucked this moment up.

His finger followed her wetness until he was rubbing against her tiny hole. It elicited the most amazing, needy sound from her. Her thighs fell wider apart, in silent invitation for more. Vegeta had to fight the urge to tear her panties off and mount her. He wanted to fuck her tight, wet cunt until he spilled himself inside. Would she even stop him if he tried?

But he didn’t want to risk it. And there was something equally satisfying at having her come apart with just his hand. After this night, it wouldn’t matter how much she screamed at him, or nagged him about getting a job, or how angry she got when he didn’t do the dishes. It would all be worth it. They would both know that no matter how high and mighty she liked to act, he had made her cum on his finger buried inside her hot little cunt.

He could feel her little entrance fluttering, growing wetter. He watched her face carefully as he eased a finger inside, slowly, slowly, sinking into her slick, sucking heat. Bulma mewled, arching her head back against her pillow, her bangs falling over her eyes.

God, she was incredible. He wanted to tell her as much, to ask if she liked it, if she wanted it faster, if he could suck her nipples into his mouth or if she was still willing to practice her blow jobs. But he didn’t dare, couldn’t find it in himself to speak, incapable of expressing himself so rawly.

Her hair was still obscuring her eyes.

He shifted his weight to his forearm to better lean over her, sweeping back her bangs with his free hand. She startled, giving him a questioning look. They stared into each other’s eyes, drawn together like two magnets, their breaths intermingling.

“Look at me so I can watch you cum,” he told her.

 

~xox~

 

Bulma’s breath stuck in her throat, robbing her the ability to respond. Vegeta’s whispered words destroyed her. His eyes bore into hers, and she felt herself drowning in them. Never had she felt so emotionally vulnerable. Nor so perfectly safe. She nodded weakly, trusting him implicitly.

She didn’t take her eyes off him. Neither did he, his dark eyes pinning her to the bed. He pushed his thick finger deeper inside, slowly fucking her. She moaned brokenly, heat flushing her body, making her tremble with need. But she didn’t look away. God, he was being so careful. It was agony. She wanted more, ached to rise up and kiss him, to press her mouth against the serious line of his lips. Would he react badly like he usually did, always the angry prude? Or would he surprise her, kiss her back, and crush the full weight of his body against her? 

He was so silent. He had barely said more than a dozen words. She longed to hear his voice murmuring more obscene things in her ear. She wanted him to say ‘cum’ again, in that low, gravely voice. She wanted to know what he was thinking, to have him encourage her with dirty words. She knew he was capable of it. What would it be like to cum while he called her a good little kitten?

He was still fucking her slowly, easing his finger in and out. She grabbed his bicep, clinging to his arm, needing to anchor herself. She spread her thighs wider, hoping he would get the message. She wanted more, needed more.

After a moment, he caught on. Another thick finger joined his first, stretching her open. Bulma groaned, her fingers digging into his muscled arm.

“H-oh _god_ ,” she keened wretchedly. It was hard not to throw her head back in pleasure, but the intense fire in Vegeta’s eyes kept her gaze locked to his. His mouth parted, and for a wild moment she thought he might kiss her or speak. But he remained silent, panting, trying to appear unaffected, but his hot breath mixing with her own proved otherwise.

It was more than she could take. “Vegeta,” she moaned, his name falling from her lips before she could think better of being so personal. She was desperate. Sopping wet. His fingers made soft, obscene sounds as he pushed them in and out of her, but it wasn’t enough. God, it wasn’t enough, she needed- “More. Please…”

_Please fuck me…_

 

~xox~

 

Vegeta’s breath hitched. He hadn’t been expecting her to say his name. _Why_ had she said his name? That changed _everything_. How could he pretend this was just fucking practice when she was staring so desperately into his eyes like a drowning thing, breathlessly moaning his name, begging him for more? _Him_ , she wanted _him_. 

Everything in his body screamed at him to give it to her.

 

~xox~

 

Bulma saw something flash in Vegeta’s eyes. He hunched closer to her, his fingers by her pillow brushing through her hair, his thumb grazing her temple. She could smell him, his familiar, masculine scent cloying her senses. He shifted the angle of his arm in her panties, and started fucking her more roughly, his fingers thrusting in and out of her with aggressive strength. She sobbed, losing the ability to think, falling down a spiral of pleasure and need.

She held onto his arm, her other hand clutching at her chest, at the sheets, before finally settling on him, touching his broad chest, running up to his shoulder. She trembled beneath him, feeling the onset of orgasm. It was a huge, building wave, hurtling towards her, as black and consuming as his eyes. She was helpless to escape it, and could only let it pound into her; relentlessly, powerful.

His fingers shoved deep inside her, his palm slapping wetly against her clit. Her thighs trembled, spreading wantonly to accommodate as much of him as she could take. She wanted to take all of him. She had seen his cock, held it in her hand and tasted it with her mouth. It was big, bigger than two of his fingers. If only he would fuck her with it now. How would it feel to have him stretching her out, pounding into her with the full force of his body? Bulma whimpered at the idea, feeling his name start to form once more on her tongue, but it got lost to her throaty moans. She was keening uncontrollably, throbbing, burning, coming apart as Vegeta gave her the most intense fingering of her life.

“I’m…!” she tried to announce, feeling the wave crash over her. It hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from her lungs. She sobbed, shuddering in mind numbing ecstasy. And for every intense, throbbing moment of it, their eyes didn’t leave each others’.

She came down slowly, not wanting it to end. She squeezed his wrist to slow him down, but he didn’t stop entirely, still gently thrusting into her as she quivered and gasped to catch her breath. His other hand stroked her temple, and she realized, embarrassed, that a few tears of pleasure had dripped from her eyes. Vegeta simply wiped them away without comment.

Finally, she slumped back into the mattress, completely done. Her heart was still pounding a thousand miles an hour, her blood like liquid fire in her veins, her head foggy with pleasure. Sleep started teasing at the edges of her consciousness. She was spent.

Vegeta’s hand came to a stop. He pulled his wet fingers out of her. She sighed mournfully, and let her thighs fall closed. He kept his hand inside her panties. She guessed he didn’t know what to do with it.

But she did.

Gently, Bulma coaxed him to pull his hand out. Before he could stop her, she guided his hand to her mouth.

Vegeta inhaled sharply, right before she licked his messy fingers. She watched him from under lowered lashes, enjoying his wide-eyed shock, brows furrowed in a pained expression as she suckled his fingers in her hot mouth. She hummed, as content as a cat with cream. She could taste herself on him and it sent a wicked thrill through her exhausted body. She stretched out against him, nudging him with her leg. Her thigh jutted something large and solid in his pants.

 

~xox~

 

Vegeta sucked in another sharp breath when she brushed against his hard-on. He tried to back his hips away before she could notice, but the damage was done. Her lips curled up in a knowing, smug smile, her tongue flicking teasingly against his fingers. She sucked them clean with a wet pop, then licked her lips before asking, “Did I look okay?”

Please. As if his rock-hard cock weren’t proof that yes, she had looked more than okay. Until the day he fucking died, Vegeta would never forget how her insides milked his fingers, or how her face flushed and scrunched in pleasure, her big, blue eyes locked to his, burning with a pleasure and trust that utterly shattered him. 

He nodded in response, unable to give her a verbal answer. 

“…Then I guess I’m ready for tomorrow?” she asked, letting his hand go.

He nodded again. He didn’t know what to do with his hand now that he had it back. He was tempted to run his thumb over her plump lip, but he resisted.

She gave him a wry, lazy smile. “You’re so quiet. You could give a girl a word of encouragement, you know.”

He frowned, embarrassed, knowing she was right. “…You were fine,” he forced himself to say, his voice hoarse.

Bulma smiled. She lowered her eyes, breaking the gaze they had been holding. The loss of her clear, blue eyes suddenly left him feeling more empty than he cared to admit.  

“Thank you for your help,” she whispered softly.

He swallowed, glad now that she had looked away. He couldn’t face her gratitude directly. “Hn.”

“Want me to return the favor?” she offered. “I can finish you off.”

His mind melted. He was fucking done. He wanted nothing more than to agree, to feel her hand, or mouth, or fuck, even her amazing, wet pussy, wrapped silkily around his cock. But he didn’t know if he could keep it together if she touched him right now. Although she was the one who had cum, he was the one feeling undone, raw and exposed before her.

He glanced at her uncertainly, and saw the languid way she blinked at him. It was late. She was half curled on her side, facing him, relaxed and spent. Her breathing had evened out, growing deeper and slower, her eyes fluttering closed, on the verge of sleep. Tomorrow would be a taxing day for her.

Vegeta swallowed, and made what might have been the first unselfish decision of his life.

“No. You sleep,” he growled, then quickly added, “ _I_ need to sleep. It’s fucking late.”

“Mm’kay,” she replied, letting her eyes finally fall closed, exhausted. 

Getting up and leaving her there, knowing she would likely submit to any sexual activity he proposed, was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He stood, adjusting himself, watching as she curled up on her side, pressing her nose into the pillow where he had been lying just a moment ago. He waited, but she made no move to turn off the lamp, or cover herself up.

He made an agitated sound. “You trying to catch a goddamn cold?” he asked, leaning over to grab the blanket.

She smiled and hummed. “Mmm, but I still feel hot from you.”

He tried to fight back a blush, glad her eyes were still closed. “Idiot,” he grumbled under his breath as he tucked her in, then hastily turned off her lamp. 

He closed her door, then went back to his own room. As soon as his door was shut, he smacked his forehead against the hard wood and stared down at his feet in a panic.

What

The

Fuck…

He had walked away. He had fucking _walked away_ after MAKING HER CUM. Why, _why_? How many times had she asked him the most ridiculous, selfish things, leaving him with nothing but a ‘thank you’ and the desperate need to jerk off? 

Get back in there and _fuck her already_.

But Vegeta didn’t move, his mind imploding with how this chain of events might fuck up the one good thing he had going on his life. How the hell was he going to look at Bulma again without remembering how pretty she looked when she came, or how she sounded, or how her perfect, hot cunt had _felt_?

Vegeta dragged a hand over his face, biting back a groan. The smell of her still lingered on his fingers. Her voice, moaning his name, teased at his memory. 

Fuck.

He pushed off from the door and headed into his room, grabbing a box of tissues. He sat on his bed, and furiously jerked off, stroking himself with the same hand that had just been inside of her, that she had _licked clean_ , just minutes ago. It took him next to no time to cum. He spilt himself into a wad of tissues, gasping into the lonely emptiness of his room. 

He tossed the used tissues into the trash and flopped back against his mattress, throwing an arm over his face as his breath rattled in his ears. If all went well, he would get to hear and watch her cum again tomorrow. Only this time it would be because of another man.

His hand fisted, and something black and ugly swelled inside of him. He slammed his fist down onto the bed in frustration.

What a fucking chump he was.

…How the fuck was he going to survive tomorrow’s shoot?

 

* * *

**~xoXox~**

...Art by  **stupidoomdoodles**

 

 **AN:** beta-read by **Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp,** our resident vegebul fanfic librarian and aficionado ~_^

 

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he’d be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist, illustrator extraordinaire, and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer, and ideas woman) can be found on **twitter** , **tumblr** and **other sites**. 

We’d love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^

 


	6. 06 Reassurance (NSFW Illustrations)

**On Set**

**-06 Reassurance-**

 

Vegeta glared at everything with murderous intent. He was _not_ in a good mood. He hadn’t slept well. He had barely eaten. It was cold as ever-loving-fuck outside. And he was _not_ happy about being back at the last place he wanted to be.

Kame Studios.

Fuck this fucking place. Fuck Nappa for ever having mentioned it. Fuck himself for having listened to that juiced-up gym rat. Fuck that Eighteen woman for putting this porn business into Bulma’s pretty, stupid head. And fuck this whole industry, all the way to hell. Vegeta was so pissed he had half a mind to punch the first dumb schmuck that got in his way.

“Hi, I’m Goku!” someone cheerily announced, interrupting Vegeta’s train of thought. A friendly hand thrust towards him.

Vegeta looked at the large, calloused palm as he leaned against a wall, arms crossed. The hand was attached to a tall, muscular young man, beaming at him with the most insufferably handsome smile. Vegeta couldn’t place it, but something about the young man reminded him of Raditz. Maybe it was the combination of wild hair and goofy grin.

…Fuck Raditz too, just for good measure.

Vegeta scowled, refusing to unfold his arms to shake the man’s hand. “The fuck is a ‘Goku’?”

The young man laughed, taking back his arm and rubbing his head sheepishly. “Ahaha, well, it’s me. That’s what everyone calls me, anyhow. I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m going to be working with your girlfriend today.”

Vegeta felt the floor drop out from under him. A horrible, sinking feeling of despair twisted at his gut. He looked Goku over again with dismay. _This_ was the guy Bulma was going to do porn with? This tall, good looking, friendly young man? _This_ was the guy who was going to undress her, pin her down, finger her, _fuck her_?!

“The _hell_ you are,” Vegeta snarled before he could stop the words from coming. Goku’s brows rose. Vegeta shut his mouth and glanced away, his hands fisting with annoyance at himself. “…She’s _not_ my girlfriend,” he gritted out, trying to cover up his lapse of control. 

“Oh?”

Vegeta glanced back at Goku. The young man had an amused, curious smile on his face. Before Vegeta could ask what the fuck his deal was, Bulma came out of the director’s room.

“Vegeta, I- Oh, hi,” she said, seeing Vegeta wasn’t alone.

“Hello. I’m Goku,” Goku greeted, holding out his hand towards her.

Bulma’s eyes widened in recognition of his name. She took his hand, shaking it. “Goku? As in, Milkman Goku?”

Goku laughed. “Yep! I’m your co-star today. Nice to finally meet you. It’s Bulma, right?”

“Right,” Bulma said, blushing, struggling to drink in the sight of Goku, all six-foot-something of him. And if her growing smile was anything to go by, she liked what she saw.

Vegeta watched, seething with a bristling, black rage that built each second they eyed each other over. “What took you so fucking long?” he snapped, anxious to have Bulma’s attention off Goku and back on him. Why were the two of them _still holding hands_?

 _Finally_ , the handshake ended, and Bulma tore her gaze away from Goku to look back at him. “Oh, I had to finish signing some documents for Roshi,” she said. “Have you seen Eighteen?”

Before Vegeta could scathingly tell her that no, he hadn’t seen the she-devil because he had been waiting for her here all this time, Goku replied.

“Eighteen? Yeah, I just saw her come in. Let me chase her down for you,” Goku offered, and he hurried off before either of them could say otherwise. He jogged away with the easy gait of an athlete, all long limbs and fluid movements.

Goku probably fucked liked an athlete too.

Vegeta’s hands fisted tightly.

“He seems nice,” Bulma commented, sounding far too pleased.

“Tch. He smiles too much,” Vegeta spat, feeling surly.

“What? What’s wrong with smiling?”

Vegeta struggled to think of an adequate reason. “Looks like an _idiot_ ,” he finally replied, scowling.

“Don’t say that,” she laughed, nudging his side. “I have to fuck the guy.”

“Well you certainly don’t seem to mind that idea as much as you did this morning,” Vegeta shot back, bursting with a hostility he could no longer control. It was sparking off him like electricity, wild and uncontainable. 

“Well, why would I?” Bulma replied, her tone hesitant, giving Vegeta an uncertain look. “I was worried I was going to be paired up with someone old, or ugly. But that’s not the case, is it? Guess I lucked out.”

Vegeta’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. He knew she was trying to make herself feel better; she had been a mess of nerves all morning. In their apartment, she mistakenly poured cream into the coffee pot, and coffee grounds into her mug. She misplaced her purse three times, and after making them breakfast, had barely touched her food. Thankfully, she was too nervous to notice that he hardly ate his either. The whole bus ride over had been filled with long stretches of silence, broken only by her blurting out odd questions: Did her hair look alright? Did she smell nice? Did he lock the door? Would he help her run away if her co-star was a weirdo, haha just kidding… She had babbled incessantly, unaware that her flimsy smile couldn’t hide her insecurities from showing. Vegeta saw right through it. She was terrified. He felt guilty too, because she was so caught up in being nervous that it didn’t leave them any space to feel awkward about what happened in her bedroom last night, and Vegeta was glad for that small mercy.

When Bulma had taken his hand as they got off the bus, he didn’t shake her off, pretending not to notice how her fingers trembled.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him that Bulma felt relieved with her co-star’s appearance. If he were a good person, Vegeta would congratulate her, help build up her confidence and reassure her for her shoot.

Vegeta wasn’t a good person.

“Are you sure he wasn’t dropped on his head?” he asked her scathingly. “He didn’t seem all there. You might be fucking a retard. Aren’t there laws against that?”

Bulma gave him an open-mouth look of horror.

It made him look away, actually feeling a little bad. “…What?”

“You are _such_ an asshole!” she blurted furiously.

“And?”

“I can’t believe you don’t get punched in the face more.”

Vegeta scoffed. “Like anyone _could_.”

“That doesn’t make it okay to be a jerk, you know.”

“So what’s _your_ excuse?”

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” Bulma hissed, sucking in air to let loose on him, but then Goku and Eighteen came down the hallway. Bulma expelled an angry breath and turned to face them.

“Look, I found her!” Goku announced rather unnecessarily. 

Vegeta raised a brow at Bulma, silently indicating _See? Dropped on the head._

Bulma gave him a baleful look before turning back to Goku and Eighteen. “You did! Thank you.”

Eighteen glanced coldly at Vegeta, then at Bulma, her eyes softening. “How are you feeling, hon?”

“Who, me? Excited, of course! Haha, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Mm. Let’s get you into a changing room,” Eighteen suggested, and she took Bulma’s elbow.

Vegeta pushed off from the wall and started to follow. He was stopped when Eighteen placed two delicate fingers in the center of his chest. Her cold, ice-blue eyes met his without falter.

“Girls only. Boys stay out here.”

Vegeta sneered at her. “Then why do _you_ get to go in?”

“ _Vegeta_!” Bulma gasped. But he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t felt this contentious since his latter gang days, caged and frustrated, on the verge of open rebellion against Frieza. It’s one reason why he left, before he pushed someone over the edge of good tolerance, and wound up dead.

However, Eighteen didn’t seem offended. In fact, she arched a brow, the hint of a smile playing about her lips. She turned, walking Bulma away. “Don’t worry. I’ll get her _nice_ and ready for Goku.”

Her words were a sharp slap to the face. Vegeta fought back a wave of nausea at her implication, watching as she took Bulma into a side room. When the door clicked shut, it felt like it cut of his oxygen with it. The corridor felt cramped, stuffy. He couldn’t breathe here. He needed to get out…

“Don’t sweat it, buddy, she’s in good hands with Eighteen,” Goku offered cheerily, patting him on the shoulder. It made Vegeta jump — he had forgotten the tall porn star was still there.

Vegeta yanked his shoulder out of Goku’s hand. “Did I fucking _ask_?” He glanced away, mumbling under his breath. “You’re worse than Raditz.”

“Raditz?”

Well, apparently his hearing was good. “Never mind. Just another idiot I know that won’t shut up.”

“No, I mean, I know Raditz. Big guy? Lots of hair?” Goku asked excitedly.

Vegeta side-eyed him. How the hell did this country-bumpkin know Raditz? “Perhaps,” he said cautiously.

Goku laughed. “He’s my brother!”

Vegeta balked. Suddenly all the pieces he had been ignoring fell into place. “Wait. _You’re_ ‘Kakarot’?” _This_ was Raditz’s brother, the little brother that Raditz wouldn’t ever shut up about, a so-called _actor_?

…Of course it fucking was. No wonder Vegeta didn’t like the guy. Just wait until he talked to Raditz again and gave him shit about this-

Wait.

 _Raditz’s little brother_ was going to fuck _his_ Bulma?

No…

Vegeta felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, his stomach rolling over. He thought he was going to throw up. Wincing, he put a hand to his brow, trying to fight back a headache. This, this was _not happening_ …

“Oh, hey, you okay?” Goku asked, leaning forward.

“I’m fine. Get out of my face,” Vegeta snapped, shoving Goku away.

“Okay, alright, just concerned… It was Vegeta, right? We’ve got aspirin this way,” Goku offered, indicating down the corridor, away from where Bulma was.

Vegeta refused to budge. “I said I was _fine_!” he snarled, gripping his head in both hands now.

“Okay, your call,” Goku replied in what he must have thought was a soothing voice. 

For a moment, there was silence. Vegeta held his head and prayed that Goku would just leave.

“Well, I should go get ready too,” Goku said.

Thank fuck. Vegeta felt his shoulders ease. “Good. You do that.”

There was another pause, but Vegeta heard no footfalls. 

“So… Roshi says this is Bulma’s first time on camera?” Goku asked.

Oh no, no he wasn’t asking him this… Vegeta’s fingers curled, ready to ball into fists and punch someone’s face. He looked up, glaring at Goku vehemently. “What’s it to you?”

Goku shrugged. “Well, it’s just… The first time can be pretty intimidating, you know? Perhaps you have some advice you can give me, to help ease her in?”

Vegeta couldn’t believe his ears. This guy _had_ to be joking, right? Give him _advice_?! Vegeta would rather eat undercooked chicken again than help Goku fuck Bulma. It was bad enough this was happening at all, he didn’t also need to know that he had helped Goku _pleasure_ her… In fact, if Goku wanted advice, then Vegeta was fucking going to give it to him.

“Sure. Say something about her tits,” Vegeta said, folding his arms over his chest and looking away. “Especially that you like how they’re asymmetrical.”

“Asymmetrical?”

“Yeah. She gets off on that,” Vegeta drawled. “Oh, and don’t touch her clit. She hates that. Too sensitive.”

“Right…” Goku said, sounding unsure.

Vegeta glanced at him and shrugged. “You fucking asked for my advice. Take it or leave it, makes no difference to me.”

“Oh, no, thanks! I appreciate it,” Goku said. “Well, I’m off now. Catch you at the shoot, Vegeta!” He waved and jogged off down the hallway. Vegeta watched him go, feeling a smug little smile form at his own craftiness. Let’s see how _lucky_ Bulma was feeling once Mr Tall, Buff and _Stupid_ insulted her breasts and did a poor job at stimulating her.

Vegeta pulled out his crummy cell phone and texted Bulma.

_What’s taking so long? I feel like an idiot standing out here._

It didn’t take long for her to reply. 

 _Probably because you_ are _an idiot._

_Oh ha ha. You better be decent. I’m coming in._

_As if. You and your pissy attitude can stay out there._

Vegeta scowled. 

_Why are you being such a cunt? You were the one who begged me to come here in the first place, and now you’re making me wait around like a fucking lackey?_

_I didn’t beg you, Vegeta. And if I had known you would be such a dick to everyone, I wouldn’t have asked you to come at all._

_Fine. Sorry to bother you. Enjoy getting fucked._  

Vegeta sent the last message with a vindictive jab of the send button. He shoved his phone in his pocket right as it buzzed but he didn’t bother checking it. It buzzed again. And again. His jaw worked. He glared at the opposite wall.

The door down the hall sprang open. Bulma stepped out, her eyes wide, her hand clutching tightly at a white robe she wore. She relaxed when she spotted him, but only for a moment. Her eyes quickly narrowed, and she marched over.

“What is _wrong_ with you!” she hissed.

Vegeta only deigned to look at her from the corner of his eye. Her hair was pinned back, her face half made up. Her eyes were huge, eyeliner and shadow applied far more thickly than Bulma normally wore. It was so different from how she usually looked. It threw Vegeta off, made him feel uncomfortable. This wasn’t his Bulma. They were changing her, taking her away from him, making her _theirs_. He glanced away, back at the wall, trying to appear indifferent, but only able to do so because she was there, a soothing balm against his roiling emotions.

“Nothing. What’s wrong with you? Worried I would run away and leave you here?”

“Yes, you goddamn jerk,” she said, surprising him. She punched him in the arm.

Or tried to. If you could call _that_ a punch.

“Ow,” she said, rubbing her hand and pouting. Her eyes shone, but from anger, tears? Vegeta couldn’t discern.

“That’s the most pathetic right hook I’ve ever taken,” he said, taking her hand in his and examining her fingers. She didn’t scream when he pressed on them. 

“Could you just… not be an asshole for five seconds, please?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He glanced at her, then back down at their hands. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

She didn’t respond at first. He finished checking her hand, but nothing seemed broken or dislocated. “You’re fine. Ready to milk the Milkman,” he tried to joke, lamely.

Bulma smiled. Barely. She looked at him with her impossibly big eyes, the make-up only accenting how captivating her gaze really was. He was lost in her eyes. Raising a hand to cup her chin, Vegeta turned her head gently to either side to admire the work. “Eighteen did this?” he asked.

Bulma nodded in his palm, her cheeks turning pink.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. He remembered doing the same last night, wiping away her tears after she came on his hand. Vegeta let her go, uncomfortable with the reawakened memory. “Looks good on you,” he told her gruffly, but truthfully. If her eyes were done up this way while going down on him, he would probably lose his load in three seconds flat.

And to think it would be wasted on Goku instead.

Life was just really fucking unfair sometimes.

“Really?” she asked, giving him a warmer smile.

“Nn,” he said, looking away before she could see the embarrassment in his eyes.

“I don’t look like a clown?”

“Tch. The only clown I saw was that idiot, Kakarot.”

“Who?”

“Your _milkman_.”

“Oh… why ‘Kakarot’?”

“Long story.”

“Okay… Anyway, I should go back. Finish getting ready.” She started to turn away, then paused, looking at him with her big, smoky eyes. “You’re going to stay, right?”

He pressed his lips in a tight line, and recrossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Just hurry the fuck up. If I have to exchange small talk with any more of your goddamn co-workers, I’m going to smash my head through a wall.”

She smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm. “Try not to. I’m nervous enough as it is, I don’t need to be worrying about you too.”

Her warm hand on his bicep burned, and left him feeling turned inside out. Her words weighed on his shoulders like a lead cloak, a heavy responsibility to bear. 

“Worry about your own stupid self,” he said, his voice soft, gruff. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I know, big guy,” she said, squeezing his bicep. Then her fingers slipped away, and she walked back to her room. 

Vegeta let his head thunk solidly back against the wall when she was out of sight. He pulled out his phone to check the time, wondering how much longer until the shoot started.

Her unread messages flashed on his screen.

 _What’s that supposed to mean_?

_Vegeta, don’t ignore me, you insufferable ass!!!_

_Please don’t go. I can’t do this without you._

Vegeta sighed, letting his hand drop to his side as he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like shit. All she wanted was his goddamn support, but he was making the whole ordeal more miserable for her than it needed to be. Throwing a fit like a toddler, being unnecessarily antagonistic…

And giving Goku bad advice.

Oh fuck.

Vegeta made an agitated sound and pushed off from the wall, heading the way he had seen Goku go earlier. He needed to hunt down the tall clown before the man actually took his advice, and shattered whatever confidence Bulma was struggling to cling on to.

Vegeta walked around several intersecting hallways, but none of the doors had nameplates, just numbers. He found his way to the set, set up to look like the inside of a living room where Bulma would be receiving her ‘milk delivery’. Vegeta sneered and found someone working on the lighting.

“Hey you. Where’s Kakarot?”

“Who?”

“ _Goku_ ,” Vegeta growled with distaste. 

“Probably room 4.”

Vegeta hunted out the room. It wasn’t far, nor hard to find, the door decorated with an orange number 4 with four little red stars. Vegeta knocked, and when he heard a cheery voice tell him to come in, he did just that.

And saw Goku. 

 _All_ of Goku. All six-foot-something of him, totally, fucking, _naked_. 

“Argh, the _FUCK_!” Vegeta snarled, covering his eyes with his hands, staggering back as if someone had thrown acid at his face.

“Vegeta?” Goku asked.

Vegeta choked on outrage and disgust. “Just… forget everything I said to you before!” he strangled out, and stumbled away down the hall, still trying to cover his eyes, the unfortunate image of Goku’s body burned into his retinas.

Pressing the heels of his palms into his sockets, Vegeta felt his way back to Bulma’s changing room and banged on the door. “I’M COMING IN AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU’RE DECENT OR NOT.” 

He opened the door and squinted into the room. Bulma was in a chair, Eighteen standing over her, holding a make-up brush to Bulma’s face. Eighteen glared at Vegeta’s dramatic entrance.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Bulma asked, startled by his entrance.

“No! I’m fucking not okay!” Vegeta roared. He held the door open, and indicated for Eighteen to leave. “You. Go now. Roommate emergency.”

Eighteen rolled her eyes and glanced at Bulma. When Bulma gave her a nod, Eighteen sighed and put her things down before leaving, but not before giving Vegeta a rather scathing once over. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked cooly. Something sparkled in her eye, and she suddenly smirked. “Or the competition.”

“OUT!” Vegeta shouted, shoving her the rest of the way, shutting the door after her. 

“You have about fifteen minutes!” Eighteen called from the other side of the door. Vegeta listened for the blonde’s footsteps to retreat before finally turning around to face Bulma. 

He wanted to grab her and take her out of there. To get her away from this place and from Goku’s enormous cock. He wanted to punch Goku in the stomach, throw a molotov through Kame Studios’ window, and never, ever have to think about this place, or Bulma being here, again. But the deluge of words he wanted to blurt at her caught in his throat when he at last got a good look at her.

She was both gorgeous yet totally foreign in her embellished make-up. Her cheeks glowed. Her lips glistened like juicy, over-ripe strawberries. Her white, fluffy robe hung open, revealing the soft curve of her décolletage, her skin sparkling from some kind of lotion or powder. She was naked underneath the robe. All it would take was one little tug and he would see everything. But most of all her eyes struck him. They were so huge, unguarded, and shimmering with concern.

“Vegeta, what is it?” she asked, standing up to meet him.

And it became so clear. He had the power to break her. For all her inner strength and bravado, Vegeta knew he could easily shatter her, destroy her belief that she could, or should, do this. A few snide remarks, some cutting words, and it would be game over. She would hate him, and worse, herself, but she would leave.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had done many awful things in his life, but this, annihilate her self-esteem entirely, he couldn’t do. She had saved him, taken him in, kept him when she didn’t have to. He didn’t have it in him to destroy her.

“…Nothing. I was just done with waiting out there.”

“Seriously, that’s all?” Bulma asked, incredulous, but her shoulders relaxed. “Why did you kick Eighteen out?”

“Don’t trust her,” Vegeta snapped. “Besides, you look…” he waved a hand in her direction. “Finished.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly, turning to examine herself in the mirror.

“…Did you still need her?” he reluctantly asked.

Bulma gave a forced laugh. “No, no, I’m fine. Just… trying not to forget my lines! Ha ha…”

Vegeta looked away, looking at anything but her. A slip of paper on the vanity caught his attention. He picked it up. “What’s this?”

“Oh!” Bulma said, happy for the distraction. “It’s my pay check.”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed as he stared at the amount, a sour taste forming in his mouth. “…Is this right?” he asked. How could it be? It was so small… This is all they thought she was worth? It wouldn’t even cover a month’s rent. This is what it all amounted to? It all felt so hollow, so cheap. It didn’t seem fucking worth it at all.

“What? Yes, it’s right,” Bulma said, coming to look over his shoulder.

“I thought you said we could make rent with this,” Vegeta said, still feeling nauseous.

“Oh, no, well… that was if we were both participating.”

Vegeta felt his stomach drop. She was right, he _was_ an asshole, lower than the dirt he stepped on. Here Bulma was, earning them money to fucking survive, and what was he fucking contributing? All he could do was think about himself. About how he didn’t want her to get fucked. Perhaps if he had tried harder to find work, she wouldn’t be here now. If he hadn’t used up so much electricity, or demanded bottled water, or had done more chores so that she didn’t have to and could have used that time to look for a better job, they might not be here now. Maybe if he had been nicer, actually complimented her once in a while, she wouldn’t feel the need to validate herself with this goddamn porno.

But it was too late for all that.

Vegeta glanced at her. She was styling her hair in the mirror, looking like a wet fucking dream. He caught a glimpse of her breasts as she leaned forward, and his groin tightened. She was far, far too good for porn, wasted on a bunch of strangers and worse, on Goku. It made him ill to think about it.

Her hands were shaking as she adjusted her bangs.

Vegeta watched her fuss, feeling each horrendous beat of his heart bringing them closer and closer to her shoot.

“I should probably go out there,” Bulma announced, far sooner than he expected. “Get familiar with the set,” she explained, not quite meeting his eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the long sleeves of her robe.

No.

Don’t. _Don’t fucking go._

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff, and he looked askance. 

Bulma checked her appearance one last time, then tightened the sash about her robe. “Okay! You can’t beat perfection like this!” she joked. “…See you out there?” she asked, and he heard the tremor in her question.

He couldn’t answer, so he grunted. 

The next time he saw her, Goku would between her legs, his dick wet in her.

Bulma walked passed him on the way to the door, and if felt like she took the air with her.

_Don’t, please don’t. Let’s find another way, I’ll find another way to make rent…_

She stopped.

“…Vegeta?” she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

He turned to look at her. She was staring at him, a brow raised curiously. Then he saw why. He was holding her arm. How…? He didn’t even remember reaching for her. But there his fingers were, pathetically clutching her slender wrist, holding her back.

“What is it?” she asked him, her face crumpling, her forced confidence shattering. “I-is something wrong? Is it my hair? Is it my make up?” she asked, touching her hair then her cheek. Her eyes grew wide, and she clutched at her robe. “Is it my breasts? My ass? M-my pussy? Oh my god, it’s my pussy, isn’t it?”

Vegeta blinked, stunned. “…What?”

“It’s not pretty enough, is it?” she asked, her voice rising high, her eyes shimmering wildly. “Oh god, please tell me honestly.”

“Bulma,” he said, tugging her away from the door and took her shoulders in his hands. “How the fuck would I know what your pussy looks like?”

She stared at him for a few panicked breaths. “…Oh,” she finally said. Her lip trembled. She looked so sad and frightened. 

Goddamnit it. Damn her. How did he constantly get himself into these predicaments with her? Life sure liked fucking with him.

Vegeta gritted his teeth and took in a deep breath. Letting it out, he put his hand on the sash at her waist. He checked to see if she objected.

She didn’t. She kept his gaze, and nodded.

Vegeta undid her belt. The sash fell away, the fluffy robe still clinging to her body. Vegeta lowered his gaze, running his fingers along the broad edge of the fabric, and gently pulled it apart.

Bulma was immaculate. A tiny, flawless, deity. Pale curves, soft skin, a narrow waist that dipped down to a soft blue trail. He swallowed, taking her all in. His fingers twitched at her sides, barely feeling worthy of touching her. But fuck it, he had come this far, he wasn’t going to stop now. 

Vegeta placed his hands on her hips and slowly sank to his knees. Bulma sucked in a breath, her cheeks flushing. She braced herself back against the vanity, and parted her legs. The submissive gesture made his blood roar. With great difficulty, Vegeta pushed his lust aside. He wasn’t here to try to get his dick wet. He was here for her.

He thumbed the sharp bones of her hips. She was so delicate. He cringed to think of Goku’s massive hands pawing her. Vegeta erased the unpleasant image from his mind, replacing it with the lovely one before him. He ghosted his fingertips over her belly, watching it goosebump in his wake. He stroked lower, down her blue fluff, gently caressing her powdery soft lips. He could barely stop his fingers from trembling, awed that she was allowing this.

He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. Shit, shit, this was actually happening. Vegeta brought his left hand to meet his right, and placed his thumbs on her cute, little labia. Gently, reverently, he parted her lips.

Bulma made a soft sound. She blushed and bit her lip, her fingers tightening on the vanity’s edge. Vegeta choked back his own sounds of lust, staring at her pink clit, her soft folds dropping down to a tiny hole. It was the most beautiful, amazing fucking thing he had ever seen, more perfect than he could have hoped for. He wanted to bury his face in it, to press his nose against her and breathe her in, to taste her on his tongue, and watch how she would squirm from doing so. He was glad he hadn’t seen her last night, because the sight of his fingers slipping inside her would have tipped him over the edge and had him cumming in his pants.

“W-well?” Bulma asked, her voice breathless.

Vegeta tried to find the strength to speak. He cleared his throat and looked up at her. Anything less than a glowing review, and she wouldn’t go. He could still stop her, keep her all to himself. All it would take was the will to break her heart.

He broke his own instead.

“…It’s perfect.” 

She let out a small, relieved laugh. “O-okay. If you say so. I trust you.”

Vegeta wanted to die. What the fuck was he doing here? This was fucking _torture_. He was holding the most perfect thing in the whole goddamn universe and he was just going to hand her over to some buffoon for a few measly hundred dollars? To think of Goku’s fingers prying around her made him want to hurt something.

He was about to let his hands fall away when something occurred to him. He frowned.

“You’re dry,” he commented. The weight of that revelation sat uneasily with him. The eyeful of Goku he had received in room 4 still haunted his vision. Goku was going to tear her up if she wasn’t dilated, and Vegeta had a lot of doubts about how capable that man would be in preparing her.

“Oh, I-I’m just… I…” her words trailed away, unable to voice how scared she was.

He couldn’t send her out like this.

Vegeta’s jaw worked, and he made up his mind.

He raised his hand to his mouth and breathed on his fingers in an attempt to warm them. Then he sucked one into his mouth. When it was warm and wet, he reached for her, touching her gently, just the way she had taught him the previous night.

Bulma breathed in with a small, surprised sound, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

Vegeta watched her reactions astutely. Her cheeks burned red, her breathing accelerated. He waited for her to stop him, but she never did. Her thighs trembled, and when he nudged her leg, she obediently spread it wider. He felt his own breathing pick up, a primal, animal instinct awakening within him, rising to claim her, to take what she was so freely offering. But he resisted his own pleasure, focusing on hers. 

Her nipples were hard and pert, her pretty chest rising and falling with her shortened breaths. He kept his touches on her clit light, teasing, only wanting to help get her ready for her shoot and maybe, just maybe, to imprint himself on her so that when Goku was thrusting inside her, Vegeta could delude himself into thinking she moaned because of him.

He spread her wider and looked at her without shame. Bulma whimpered. From behind her hand she gasped his name. Fuck, _fuck_ , why did she have to do that? Like this wasn’t fucking hard enough without her doing that. He looked at her face, and was instantly transported back to last night, seeing her face flushed and scrunched in pleasure, her blue eyes locked desperately to his. And with that memory, another followed.

_You’re so quiet. You could give a girl a word of encouragement, you know._

Her words hovered in his mind. He didn’t really know what to say to be encouraging. Fuck, he didn’t think anyone had said an encouraging thing to him in his whole life, how the fuck was he supposed to know what it might sound like? But he didn’t want to fail her, so Vegeta did the only thing he could think of, and spoke honestly. “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice coming out low and gruff.

Bulma sucked in a shuddering breath at his words. She nodded helplessly, her hand falling away from her mouth to clutch his broad arm. “D-don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised. Like he could.

He slipped his finger down her soft folds, feeling her getting slick. “How’s that?” he asked, pressing at her entrance. “I can feel you’re getting wet. Does it feel good?”

“H-oh my god yes!” Bulma sobbed.

“Okay. I’m going to stretch you out now.”

“ _O-oh my god!_ ”

Vegeta pushed a finger inside her and Bulma groaned, her head falling back. Her hips writhed, pushing down on his hand reflexively. It was the single hottest thing Vegeta had ever seen in his whole goddamn life. He curled his finger inside her and her hips bucked in response.

“Vegeta!” she whimpered. “Oh my god, oh my god… Please, please…”

He watched her, wanting desperately to know what it was she was begging for. If it was in his power, he would give it to her.

Bulma looked down at him, her face wrecked in pleasure. She whimpered, tugging on his arm. “Talk to me more?”

He rose to his feet. Compelled to be closer to her, to shelter her tiny body with his own, he gently took the back of her head in his hand. He nuzzled her ear. Her fingers latched onto his shirt, clinging, her legs spreading to accommodate him. 

“Close your eyes,” he told her, still slipping one finger in and out of her. “Imagine you’re home, in bed. Just like last night.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, trembling and grinding against his hand, one of her legs hooking behind his hip. “B-but you used two fingers in me then.”

“Did I?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Like this?” he husked, and wiggled another thick finger inside her, stretching her out.

Bulma keened, burying her face into his shoulder to muffle her cries. “Y-yes, yes, just like that!”

She was getting so wet, but still felt too tight. _She’ll never fit Kakarot inside her_. Vegeta clutched her closer, protective, pushing unpleasant thoughts away.

“There’s nothing else, no one else,” he said, as much for his own sake as for hers. “Just you and… me, inside you.”

He pulled back, enough to look at her. She opened her eyes, looking back. He lost himself in her eyes, drowning. She stared right back at him, her gaze cloudy with lust. She put her hands to his face and brought them closer together. Her mouth, gasping, tried to find his. “Vegeta,” she moaned, shivering against him. “Please fuck m-”

A loud knock came at the door. “All cast on set!”

Vegeta sprang off her, the knock a rude lightening bolt of reality. For a fleeting moment, he had forgotten where they were. For a heart beat, she had been his, and only his.

But now she was Goku’s.

Fuck. FuckfuckFUCK! Vegeta turned around, giving her his back so that he could try and pull himself together. He tried to will away his hard on, tried to mentally prepare himself to let her go, to respect her choices as much as he might despise them. She wasn’t his, she never had been. He had to respect that…

But he didn’t have to watch it.

He couldn’t. _He fucking couldn’t_.

“Vegeta?” she called to him, her voice breathless, uncertain.

“…You’ll be fine,” he told her gruffly, the last fragment of reassurance he could throw at her. He turned and headed for the door, his eyes downcast. He left, walked purposefully down the corridor, struggling to keep his knees from buckling or his hands from fisting through the nearest wall.

“Hey, where are _you_ going?” Eighteen asked him as he passed her.

He didn’t bother answering.

“Hey, she’s going to need you! HEY!” Eighteen shouted after him.

He ignored her. Heading for the front door, Vegeta crashed through it, exiting the studios without looking back.

 

~xox~

 

It had all been so perfect. 

One minute, Vegeta had been holding her, more tender than she could have imagined him being. His cheek pressed warmly to hers. His mouth crooning his intentions into the shell of her ear. His big fingers fucking her in a way that no man had ever made her squirm. But the next moment, he was gone. He had let her go as if burned, ashamed. Now all he gave her was his back.

Something tightened in Bulma’s chest.

She closed her robe, feeling cold and exposed. Her mind was a mess, struggling to kick back into gear, warring between fading arousal and escalating uncertainty. 

The knock on the door couldn’t have come at a worse time. She had just worked up the courage to ask Vegeta to fuck her, here and now, her shoot be damned, when the interruption came. And now she didn’t know, was scared to know - why had he let her go? Had her half-spoken question disturbed him, or was it the knock that made him pull away? And if the latter, why was he still not looking at her?

Bulma felt a cold pit of unease churn within her belly. Had she crossed a line? Had she made one sexual advance too many? She thought Vegeta was enjoying himself too. With all the things he had been saying, doing, the look in his eyes… Or was she just projecting? After all, she was always the one to push him into these things. Did he give in out of lust, or out of pity? 

What was she to him?

And why wouldn’t he look at her?

Bulma tried to catch her breath. She still felt wrecked from his fingering. “Vegeta?” she asked. She couldn’t say anything else, her other questions unspoken. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if he was okay… If _they_ were okay.

“…You’ll be fine,” he responded abruptly. And before she could reply, he left her.

Still wet, throbbing.

And alone.

The sound of the door closing after him rung in her ears. Her chest felt impossibly tight. Something splintered inside her, like glass fracturing under too much pressure. It felt like she was going to burst…

Another knock came at the door, softer than before. Eighteen poked her head inside. “Bulma, honey, are you ready?”

Bulma nodded woodenly. She stepped away from the vanity, tightly clutching her robe in both hands, and approached Eighteen. It was time for her shoot. She had to get her mind off Vegeta and onto her film. 

The big moment of truth.

Eighteen put her hands on Bulma’s shoulders and shepherded her towards the set. “Sit here, hon,” the blonde suggested, guiding Bulma to a couch on the set. The stage lights shone down on her with unsettling clarity, throwing the rest of the room into shadows. Her skin prickled with sweat under the hot lights. As she took a seat, she noticed the crew, fixing the lighting and adjusting cameras, suddenly paused to stare at her. Bulma looked away, embarrassed. She clutched her robe tighter about her throat and scanned the room. She had to squint to see past the glare of the lights. Off to the side she spotted Goku, now wearing a deliveryman outfit, talking to someone she didn’t know. She looked past him, trying to find Vegeta in the crowd, and failing to do so. Maybe he was in the bathroom, or getting a drink?

The uncomfortable, squeezing pressure in her chest grew worse.

Eighteen came back with a make up kit and started fussing with Bulma’s face, preventing her from further scanning the room. “You need a touch-up, hon,” Eighteen explained. “You’re a little sweaty. Nervous?”

 _Who, me? Bulma Briefs? Nervous? Hahaha…_ That’s what she wanted to say, but her throat felt dry, her tongue thick and uncooperative. She gave Eighteen a weak smile and shook her head.

Eighteen clearly wasn’t fooled. She stopped fixing Bulma’s make up and gave her a sharp look. “Everyone is their first time. We’ll take it at your pace, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Her final words hit Bulma hard, like a truck slamming dead into a wall. They were the same words Vegeta had told her before he walked away from her.

The heat from the lights was suffocating, sweltering. Was it always like this? Bulma felt dizzy, like she couldn’t even breathe.

Eighteen finished touching up her face. “There. Gorgeous. _I_ would fuck you. Just relax here, take some deep breaths, and have fun. It’s just sex, right? And Goku’s a total gentleman.”

“Right,” Bulma said weakly. Eighteen gave her a worried look, then headed off, straight over Goku. Watching them talk only made Bulma more nervous, so she looked away, watching the crew finish setting up.

Her make up felt heavy and unnatural. It hadn’t been like that around Vegeta, he made her feel sexy, but now it just felt like a mask that wasn’t fooling anyone. She was no porn star. She knew it, they knew it. They were only too polite to say. Bulma glanced down at herself; her hands were clutching her robe in a vice-like grip. She forced them to unlock, and instantly despaired when they started to tremble.

Her nerves were getting the best of her. She needed to calm down, to have someone to tell her, in their familiar, gruff, no-nonsense voice, that she was being an idiot. To calm the fuck down. To joke with her about Roshi’s ridiculous shirt, to criticize the awful decor of the set, and to remind her that she could _do this_.

 _Where_ was Vegeta? Why couldn’t she find him?

Why hadn’t he waited for her?

Why had he stopped touching her?

And _why_ did it make her throat close up every time she pictured him walking out the door?

Bulma looked around the room, vainly trying to spot him. If she could just see him, see his angry little frown and his muscled arms bunched over his broad chest, his dark eyes watching her with single-minded focus… If she could just find him, she knew she could get through this. But she couldn’t spot him. The rope of unease inside her chest tightened further, making her heart pound and her lungs burn.

“Hey!”

Bulma startled. Goku crouched down before her with a disarming smile. 

“Thought I’d check up on my co-star. We didn’t really get much of a chance to talk before,” he said in a cheery tone.

“Oh. Yeah… Have you seen Vegeta?” she asked him.

“Sorry, not since earlier,” Goku admitted. “But, about today,” he added, and put a hand on her knee.

Bulma startled like a mistreated animal. Goku’s eyes widened, pulling his hand back defensively. “Oh, sorry-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Bulma hurried to apologize. She felt her cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. God, she was a mess. She was supposed to let this man fuck her, but she over-reacted when he touched her knee? He probably thought she was a complete lunatic at this point. “You just surprised me.”

“Ah, no hard feelings, sorry to scare you. I should have asked,” Goku told her kindly. Too kind. He was patronizing her. Oh god, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be sexy, fun, naughty even. But it wasn’t any of those things. Goku was treating her as if she were mentally unstable, wary of her breaking down from the slightest provocation.

And the worst part was, he was right.

She could feel herself crumbling apart, drowning in a sea of insecurities. This was far outside of her comfort zone, and for once, she wasn’t enjoying the challenge. All she felt was uncomfortable, and ridiculous.

And alone.

Why wasn’t he here?

“You know, if it helps, try to forget about all this,” Goku said, waving his hand at the cameras and lights. “Imagine you’re somewhere safe, familiar. Heck, imagine I’m your boyfriend. I won’t be offended.”

“Boyfriend?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. She felt the tightness in her chest _squeeze_ , crushing the air from her. 

Goku nodded. “Yeah. Vegeta.”

Her heart stopped. She sucked in a panicked breath, but she couldn’t drag in any air. “Excuse me,” she gasped. She got up, stumbling off the set. Out of the glare of the lights, Bulma looked frantically around, trying to find him, her heart bursting to break free of the invisible rope constricting it.

“Bulma?” Eighteen asked with concern, coming over to her.

“Vegeta,” Bulma demanded, her voice thick. She could feel something hot and horrible burn inside her, stinging her eyes. “Where is he? Have you seen him?”

Eighteen hesitated. But she didn’t have to say anything. Her face said it all.

He wasn’t here.

He had left her.

The first sob escaped Bulma before she could stop it. Hot tears dripped down her cheeks, no doubt ruining the make-up Eighteen had worked so hard to put on her. Bulma couldn’t get the tears to stop. She covered her face, broken, humiliated, her shoulders hitching as sob after sob wracked her. Weeks of nerves and insecurities gushed out as she cried, but at the heart of it all was the bitter sting of Vegeta’s abandonment.

“Here, try to calm her down,” Eighteen said, and Bulma felt someone gently take her shoulders. She was too distraught to care who.

“Me? Where are you going?” Goku called.

“To find the asshole that’s making her cry!” 

 

~xox~

 

Vegeta felt the cold of the bench seep into his back. The world bustled around him, oblivious to his inner turmoil, but what the fuck was new about that? When had the world ever given a shit about him?

Never. 

Until her.

Vegeta crushed the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to block everything out.

It didn’t work.

Something hit the bench and he jolted upright. Eighteen stood at the end, one booted foot on the armrest. Her face was drawn and furious.

“Having a nice lay down?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Vegeta glowered at her. “What’s it to you?”

Eighteen lowered her foot, sweeping her blonde hair out of her face. “Just thought you might like to know that while you’re out here enjoying the day, Bulma’s back inside in hysterics.”

Vegeta leapt to his feet and grabbed the front of Eighteen’s blouse. “What? What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Tch, you’re asking me?” Eighteen sneered, not the least intimidated by him. “You’re the one who sold her for a meal ticket.”

“That’s not-!” Vegeta started to argue, then realized he didn’t care to explain himself to her. He dropped Eighteen and ran off, sprinting back down the block towards Kame Studios.

He burst through the door and flew past the receptionist. He came to a dead stop at the set, gasping for air, looking around for Bulma. The crew was milling about, talking and looking bored, but Bulma was no where to be seen.

“Where is she?” he roared.

Someone pointed down the hall. “Goku’s room.”

She was with _Kakarot? Alone?_

Vegeta saw red.

He ran straight to the four-star door, crashing through to get inside. The sound of Bulma crying instantly brought him to a stop. No, not crying. Crying was what Bulma did when that idiot, Jack-something, froze to death in Titanic, or when Bulma drank too much and spent the night puking and crying over everything that had gone wrong in her life, including all the times she had drank too much. No, this wasn’t crying.

It was bawling. 

Bulma sat half curled in a chair, her face in her hands as she wailed. Goku crouched before her (in clothes, thank fuck), his large hands awkwardly patting her on the shoulders. “Shh, it’ll be okay, we don’t have to do any-”

Some internal switch clicked on inside of Vegeta, and he pounced. With great violence, Vegeta yanked Goku back by his shirt, throwing the man hard into the nearest wall. Goku slammed backwards, wincing and letting out a small ‘ow’ on collision.

“Don’t you _fucking touch her_ ,” Vegeta snarled. “The fuck did you people do to her! I was only gone five goddamn minutes!”

“She isn’t hurt… I don’t think,” Goku said, rubbing his shoulder but otherwise appearing more concerned about Bulma than Vegeta’s rough handling of him. “I don’t know why she’s crying.”

“You don’t know why?!” Vegeta yelled, ready to explode. “I swear on my fucking life, if you tried anything with her-”

“Vegeta…” Bulma’s tiny, wet voice croaked. It pierced him right through the chest.

Vegeta turned to look at her, then back at Goku. “OUT!” he said, grabbing Goku’s shirt and shoving the man out of his own room. He slammed the door shut and, after a quick look around, wedged a chair under the handle for good measure.

Shaking with adrenalin, he approached her. With no one left to blame, and each of her sobs slicing through him like steel, Vegeta didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to dealing with crying, or emotions, especially others’. He hunched before her, swallowing thickly, and reached out to brush her bangs back from her face.

Bulma hiccoughed and looked up. Her eye make-up was smeared. She raised her sleeve to wipe her wet nose on the cuff. She looked very young, and small, and vulnerable. Vegeta was overwhelmed by the need to protect this tiny, miserable creature with everything he had.

“Wh-where did you go?” she asked, her voice breaking. Her hurt, blue gaze made him feel guiltier than any parental figure ever had.

How could he tell her the truth? How could he admit that he couldn’t watch her get fucked by someone else? He struggled to explain himself, but Bulma spared him the misery of doing so.

“I can’t do it,” she sobbed, putting her hands back over her face, her breath hitching higher. “I’m so ashamed. I’m such an idiot.”

Her words hurt, stinging him like salt in a wound for how untrue they were. “Bullshit,” he said firmly. “You’re Bulma fucking Briefs, remember? If anyone is at fault it’s them. Pairing you up with that idiot. I would fucking cry too.”

She laughed, weakly, but only for a moment before divulging back into tears. She slipped forward and pressed her face against his shoulder, her fingers curling into his shirt. Vegeta’s eyes widened, shocked. Fuck, what was he supposed to do now? He debated with himself for a moment before finally putting his arms around her. Bulma eased against him, and he tightened his hold, guessing he had done the right thing. 

But her crying didn’t stop. “I r-really thought I c-could do it,” she sobbed sadly.

“Bulma,” he murmured into her feather soft hair. “If anyone can do anything, it’s you. You’re the most stubbornly determined person I have ever met.”

She shook her head in the negative, and their cheeks pressed together.

“Not this time,” she said, and once started, she couldn’t seem to stop, rambling wildly. “I h-had this image in my head of what it would be like, but… Everything was _wrong_. It was all so wrong. It was nothing like I wanted it to be. I felt so awkward and uncomfortable. Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to mess up. It wasn’t fun or sexy, it wasn’t like when we practiced. I just wanted it to be like that. I just wanted it to be like how it was with you…”

Vegeta felt his heart skip a beat, and then struggle to catching up, thudding frantically at her revelation. He didn’t know how to take her words. They made him ache in a way he didn’t dare hope. 

“You always made me feel good. Safe,” she added, her fingers tightening in his shirt. She seemed calmer now, her sniffling subsiding. Bulma rested her wet cheek on his shoulder, sighing and hiccoughing. “I just w-wish it could have been you.”

He felt his resistance come apart, splitting, like a giant sheet of ice breaking away from a glacier to crash into the ocean, taking all his misgivings with it. He grimaced, raw and exposed in a way he had never had to deal with before. He hugged her tighter, and knowing the full impact of what he was about to say, told her, “Okay.”

_Just please, please stop crying._

* * *

 

**~xoXox~**

art by Stupidoomdoodles

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/On%20Set%20AU/ch_06BulmaCryDooms_zpskf7adkzo.png.html)

 

fanart by [VegetaPsycho](http://vegetapsycho.tumblr.com/post/156648696370/have-any-of-yall-read-on-set-by-ladyvegeets-yet)

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/On%20Set%20AU/ch_06AssuranceVPsycho_zpsmbmmnjbo.jpg.html)

 

AN: beta-read by **Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp,** our resident vegebul fanfic librarian and aficionado ~_^

 

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he’d be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist, illustrator extraordinaire, and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer, and ideas woman) can be found on twitter, tumblr and other sites. 

We’d love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^


	7. Chapter 07: Makes Perfect

**On Set**

**-07 ...Makes Perfect-**

 

The bathroom mirror squeaked as Vegeta wiped the moisture off with his fist. The wet silvery shine reflected back an expression he had spent years schooling: his trademark ‘I-will-fucking-end-you’ glare. Such a fearsome face might have fooled the mirror, but Vegeta couldn’t fool himself so easily. Behind his stoic mask, a sea of turmoil raged. Waves frothed and foamed, beating him into the rocks of his insecurities. He was being drowned, dragged under the current, choking on his anxiety. 

How had he ended up in this situation? Vegeta replayed recent events in his mind, trying to make sense of it all. He tormented himself with every action, every spoken word and unspoken gesture, and watched the chain of events unfold in his mind’s eye like some elaborate Rube Goldberg machine. Maybe if he analyzed it closely enough, he could see the moment that had led him here, standing in the bathroom of their apartment in only his underwear, trying to muster up the nerve to go to Bulma’s room so that they could… ‘practice’.

For porn.

…Seriously. How the _fuck did this happen_?!

“Are you okay in there?” Bulma called from across the hall.

Vegeta grimaced, his shoulders hunching against her concern. Of course he wasn’t fucking okay. He was suffocating: the bathroom was stifling with humidity from his recent shower and his own self-imposed claustrophobia. He wanted to leave the room, but doing so meant facing _her_ , and Vegeta wasn’t sure he was capable of that.

How the fuck did one practice sex? And why the fuck had he agreed?

Well, he knew why. It was because of her, of course. What part of his life didn’t revolve around her lately? The image of her, tiny and crying in Kame Studios resurfaced, and with it, a promise he had made. 

_“I just w-wish it could have been you.”_

_“…Okay.”_

His consent shocked everyone — himself most of all. Only Eighteen appeared unfazed, watching him sign his Kame Studios contract with the biggest, know-it-all smirk possible on her stupid bitchy face, but Vegeta had kept quiet for Bulma’s sake. He was given instructions on where to get STD tested, then told to take Bulma home to await their new script and shoot date. Handing back Bulma’s paycheck had hurt, but not nearly as much knowing as if Goku had fucked her.

But now that the shock had worn off and a few days had passed, Vegeta was left with the awful weight of what he had promised. Worst of all, Bulma was determined that she — they — would be ready this time. By practicing.

“Fuck,” Vegeta whispered to his reflection. He looked sickly. Fuck, this was ridiculous, he was making too much out of this. It was just sex, just fucking. Sure, it might be awkward that they lived together, but they were both adults, both mature people. Okay, _mostly_ mature… Sometimes. They could _occasionally_ understand mature concepts.

“Fuck,” he repeated, smacking his brow against the cold mirror and scrunching his eyes shut. 

“Vegeta?” Bulma called again. He felt the sand in his hourglass running out.

“Jesus Christ, Bulma, would you give me FIVE FUCKING MINUTES?”

“I’ve given you thirty! Are we doing this or not?”

She was right. He was stalling. Five minutes or five hours, it wasn’t going to change anything. It wasn’t going to change his receding hairline, or the horrible scars littering his body. It wouldn’t change his face which could make serial killers sweat, or that he was only a couple inches taller than she was (if he stood up straight and she wasn’t wearing heels). And it wouldn’t change the fact that he was the world’s biggest asshole — which until recently he had taken pride in, until she had picked him up, dusted him off, and made him into her… roommate? Friend?

 _She wanted it to be_ you _._

Why?

He didn’t know. What could she see in him? As far as he could tell, the only thing Vegeta had going for him was that he was fit. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional way, and he certainly wasn’t kind or trustworthy or those other qualities that most women seemed attracted to. He couldn’t see the appeal of himself for someone as sharp-witted and cultured as her. But Bulma had asked for him, and against his better judgement, he agreed. 

Because, let’s face it, he _wanted_ to fuck her. That had become very apparent. He couldn’t sleep at night without thinking of her soft skin and heated moans, of his fingers buried inside her. The memories left him half-hard and aching, and reaching for the lotion.

Yes, he wanted to fuck her. And not just because she was beautiful, although that was certainly part of it. She was _challenging_. She was smart, strong, and stubborn enough to withstand his temper. Although she talked a lot, she rarely overstepped her bounds. She respected his privacy, something which he was infinitely grateful for. And most baffling of all was that she respected his opinion. When was the last time he felt respected? Feared? Yes. Obeyed? Sure. But respected? _Yeah, right._

Yet she did. For reasons that still baffled him, Bulma actually gave his points of view consideration and weight, finding them worthy of discussion, even when they didn’t align with her own. She valued and trusted him, and in doing so, he found himself valuing and trusting her back. Wasn’t that scary? When was the last time he trusted anyone?

Maybe that’s why she was the first woman he _yearned_ to fuck, and also why he was terrified of doing so. He didn’t — couldn’t — fuck this up.

Still, standing in the bathroom wasn’t solving anything. If he kept her waiting any longer, she was going to yell at him again. It was now or never. 

With a final hard look at himself, Vegeta exited the bathroom and approached her bedroom door. He cleared his throat, ignoring the sickening churning of his gut, and knocked.

“You decent?” he asked.

“Am I supposed to be?”

Oh. Right.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Vegeta opened the door and stepped inside.

Sunlight lit her room. It was so warm and bright compared to the night, when her room was masked in shadows and soft lamp light, just as it had been a few nights ago when she invited him to watch her cum. That evening had felt surreal and dream-like. The harsh exposure of day was making things feel far too real. 

Bulma lay atop her sunlight dappled bed, wearing only a dark tube top and pale blue panties. Decent, at least by her standards. Vegeta wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or not. She was looking down at her lap, making notes in a notebook. 

He glanced around, standing uncomfortably in her doorway. There were tissues, lube, and condoms on her bedside table. Their presence was intimidating more than confidence inducing. 

“Holy shit it’s about time,” Bulma complained at his arrival.

His eye twitched. She was using the same tone for when he came home late or forgot to do some chore about the apartment. Folding his arms over his chest, Vegeta glared at her from the corner of his vision. “Like _you_ didn’t take two fucking hours,” he grouched back. She had been in the bathroom far longer than he had.

“Well, you can’t rush perfection,” she replied, still not looking up as she wrote.

They lapsed into silence. The seconds ticked by, each one growing more painful than the last. Vegeta shifted his weight. Was he supposed to do something, say something? The tension grew, and with it, his discomfort. Why the hell was he standing here in his goddamn underpants like a moron?

“So,” Bulma said, interrupting the silence. “You going to sit down, or continue standing there like a Men’s Health model?” She looked up at him, smiling, and patted the bed.

He fought very hard not to blush. 

“Tch.”

He approached the bed, sitting opposite her. Her bodywash’s scent, fresh and sweet, clung to her, a tantalizing aroma that beckoned him closer. He could see that she had shaved, her long legs smooth and pulled up to support her notebook that she had gone back to scribbling in. What the hell could be so important that she was making notes at a time like this?

“The fuck are you doing?” he finally asked, irked by her divided attention.

“Making a list of ‘okays’.”

“A list of what?”

“Okays,” Bulma repeated. “What I find acceptable in bed.” 

“You have a _list_?”

“You don’t?”

Vegeta made an indignant sound. “No.”

“Really? So what do you like to do when you’re with someone?”

The hell kind of question was that? Wasn’t it the same for everyone? He liked to cum… What else was there? But Vegeta was getting the impression that he might be missing something, so he lapsed into embarrassed silence.

“You should make a list,” Bulma suggested when he didn’t reply. “It will be good for me to know your turn-ons and turn-offs.” Looking up from her notes, she gave him a playful smile and pointed at him with her pen. “C’mon. What turns you on?”

His face contorted the same way it did when he ate something unpleasant. “I am not telling you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“I think it’s kind of important that I know.”

“Tch.”

She raised the pen up to tap her lip, her expression turning thoughtful. “Hmm…Is it stockings?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Spanking?”

“No.” Why the hell would he hit his partner in bed?

“Blow jobs?”

He could barely choke out an answer, his face burning red, smacked in the face with the memory of her mouth about his dick. “Bulma,” he growled in warning. “Enough!”

A knowing smirk curled her lips. “Interesting,” she purred.

Fucking bitch. 

Thankfully, she lowered her gaze to finish her notes, allowing him to burn with humiliation in private. She added a few more things before putting down her pencil and offering him her notes. 

“Here.”

Vegeta hesitated, not sure he was prepared to read what she had written. But it had to be better than thinking about blow jobs and his spiraling self-doubt. He took the notebook and read it over.

Holy shit she had written a lot. The entire page was scrawled over, detailing sexual acts she found okay or not okay. 

“How many goddamn okays do you have?” he asked.

“Oh, those are just the most relevant,” Bulma answered, moving in to read with him over his shoulder. Her body heat burned at his back like a second sun. He tried to ignore her as he read her list. 

Fingering: okay. Fisting (Jesus Christ): not okay. Cunnilingus: okay. Nipples sucked: not okay. Wait, what? 

“You… don’t like your nipples sucked?” he asked, surprised by the bullet-point. Not that he had given it much thought, but Vegeta had just assumed that all women liked their nipples sucked. Wasn’t that a thing? A common perception?

Bulma rested her chin on his shoulder. “Eh, not really. Usually the guy is too aggressive and it hurts.”

The news threw Vegeta into a slew of brand-new insecurities. Nothing, she made him feel like he knew nothing about sex. Tab A into Slot B; repeat as necessary. That was about the extent of his experience. Thank fuck for Raditz, because that bragging loud-mouth was the only reason Vegeta even knew about the clitoris. That information had served him well enough, but it wasn’t until Bulma invited him into her room when knowing about female pleasure — Bulma’s pleasure — had become a burning necessity. But how the fuck was he supposed to pleasure her when he didn’t even know that her nipples weren’t supposed to be sucked on?

Seriously, what the hell? Isn’t that what nipples were for?

Not wanting to reveal his ignorance (and rising panic), Vegeta huffed away her answer and continued looking over her notes. But the more he read, the more his stomach dropped. Half the activities she listed weren’t things he had ever considered trying. Ear play? Inner thigh play? Why were these even sexual acts? They were just body parts. What was sexy about a goddamn ear? Ice play? The fuck was that? Light BDSM and anal? Holy shit. Bulma was… adventurous. He could barely keep collected while fingering her. How was he going to live up to all this?

The divide between their experience yawned greater and greater, a large black chasm that left him woefully out of her reach and unprepared for the task ahead. 

“Hey,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts. Their eyes met, his overwhelmed, hers concerned. “It’s not a ‘to-do’ list. And some of these things I haven’t even done, but I’m open to trying. I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. I want us to feel confident when the cameras start rolling.” She plucked the notebook from his hand and set it aside. When she turned back, she sat next to him cross-legged, and took his hands in hers. It was such a simple gesture, so why did it feel like his heart was about to explode out his chest?

“Let’s not get bogged down in details,” she suggested. 

Thank Christ. 

“Let’s just… get comfortable being around each other.”

Oh no. What did she mean, get comfortable? Get comfortable how? They were around each other all the fucking time. How much more comfortable could they get?

He gave her a wary look. She was examining his body, her eyes roving over his hands, moving up his arms towards his torso. His gut twisted, like a spring winding tighter, _crunching_. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him bare-chested, but it was the first time she had stared at him so openly. Did his body impress her? Or intimidate her? Did he even compare to the other men they had seen at Kame Studios? Vegeta was sure he could take Goku in a fight, but did she think he could? And why the hell did he want her to know that he could? Vegeta clenched his jaw, apprehension mounting. He could feel his hands growing sweaty in hers. 

“Nervous?” she asked, giving his damp hands a gentle squeeze.

He flashed her a pained look, dying on the inside but too proud to admit it. 

She smiled and squeezed his hands again. “Me too.”

Oh.

For some reason that lifted a very heavy weight off his shoulders. The chasm between them shrank.

“You really take very good care of yourself, don’t you?” she commented. “Well, other than these—” 

Her fingers reached out, touching a jagged scar that split across his shoulder. The wound was long healed, but Bulma’s delicate touch felt as piercing as the broken glass had that scarred him.

“Wow, Vegeta. How did you get this?” she asked, her fingers ghosting the old wound. It awoke old insecurities, dredging them from their grave. He rolled his shoulder out from under her fingers and looked away, scowling, his skin still burning from her touch.

“Don’t remember,” he lied. He didn’t care to expose himself to her any more than he already was.

“It looks like it must have hurt,” she sympathized. It had, but Vegeta didn’t like dwelling on the past. Nothing good came of that. 

“Which ones _do_ you remember?” she insisted, her eyes eating up the other scars scattered across his torso. She touched a thin line decorating his ribs, tracing where the blade of some street-punk had once sliced him. Vegeta’s skin tightened, his nipples peaking at her caress. Damn her.

He grabbed her hand. “Talking about my past will just sour the mood.”

She blinked at him, and for a moment he thought he had said too much. But if he had, she said nothing about it, instead threading her fingers with his. It occurred to him that they were holding hands, because of him.

“Okay, sorry,” she said. “Touchy subject. But I meant what I said.”

“About?”

“That you have a very nice body. I’m glad it will be you.”

Something squeezed the air from his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He glanced at her, ready to tell her to stop fucking with him, but her shy, genuine smile melted away his vitriol. Which was a problem, because Vegeta didn’t know how to react to an actual compliment.

“Tch. I’m only doing this because Kakarot looked so goddamn incompetent,” he grouched, avoiding her eyes. “And so we can pay some fucking bills.”

“Uh huh.”

She didn’t believe him, but thankfully was too polite to call him out. Her thumbs brushed over his own, soothing him the same way one might a wild animal. His throat closed up, and he wondered if this could get any worse.

“Do you want to touch me?” she offered.

Universe, you are a massive cunt.

Dredging up the ability to talk despite his sandy mouth, Vegeta asked, “Why?”

“To get more familiar with me?”

He scoffed. “I’m already pretty fucking familiar.” How could he not be? He had seen her in her underwear, and out of it. He had cum all over her tongue, and held her breasts in his hands. He had fingered her. _Twice_. So really, Vegeta didn’t think there was much else left to get familiar with. Was there?

“Well, in that case—” Bulma said, removing her hands from his and turning towards the table. The loss of her touch was instantly felt, his fingers curling up like a dying spider’s legs. “I suppose we should talk logistics.”

“Logistics?” Vegeta liked logistics; he was usually good with those, but for some reason when she said the word, it did not fill him with confidence.

“Yep.”

Bulma picked up an envelope from the bedside table and waved it at him. The Kame Studios stamp in the corner mocking his morale.

“Roshi wrote that we don’t have to do anything too fancy. There’s four basic parts: blow job, fingering, sex position one, and sex position two.” Bulma gave him a coquettish look. “I guess we’ve practiced the foreplay already. So, regarding the sex positions, Roshi gave some simple suggestions but said he’s flexible. Whatever we’re comfortable with. Haha, he probably doesn’t want another cancelled shoot.” 

“Right,” Vegeta managed to reply, what little confidence he had remaining was rapidly souring.

“So, big guy,” she said, her pretty aqua eyes on him and a sultry smile forming. “What are you comfortable with?”

It wasn’t so much a question of ‘what’ as it was ‘who’. Vegeta wasn’t comfortable with a lot things: intimacy, companionship, trust, in fact, just about everything made him suspicious. But he _was_ comfortable with her, or as comfortable as he was capable of being. It was Bulma, just Bulma. This was the woman he rolled his eyes at, argued with, made sarcastic commentary to, shared food with, watched surreptitiously from the corner of his eye, and lately masturbated to. He could put up with a lot of shit — had done so already — if she was there to ease him through it. 

He could do this. With her.

“We should take the old man’s advice and keep it simple,” Vegeta said.

Bulma nodded. “Right. Simple.” She pulled out the letter and read it aloud for his convenience, her finger tapping over each bullet-point. “Okay. So, there’s standard missionary. That’s easy. Cowgirl: that’s when the girl is on top, in case you didn’t know,” she teased. “And —ooh!”

“What?”

“Up against the wall. Oh my god, I’ve never tried that,” she gushed with enthusiasm. She gave him an appraising look before glancing back at the paper. “Uh, well… Maybe another time.”

That was a dramatic change of hear. “What, why?” he asked.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “It might be a little… advanced.”

“Advanced?” he repeated, feeling his eyes narrow. She was using that tone, the one that meant she was tip-toeing around a subject that might offend.

“Well, we don’t even know if you can lift me.”

Oh, he was definitely offended. The hell did she think she was talking to? If he could haul Nappa’s ass all the way across West Side after a brawl at 2 in the morning, he could certainly lift a tiny thing like her. Had she not seen him work out, used him to lift heavy things and open every jar that passed through the goddamn apartment? Couldn’t lift her?! As if.

His pride on the line, Vegeta stood with a snort of contempt, and scooped her into his arms, bridal style. As expected, she weighed nothing.

“I think I’ll survive,” he drawled.

 

~xox~

 

One moment they were sitting on the bed, the next Bulma was lifted into a pair of very large, very powerful arms. She yelped and braced herself on Vegeta’s strong shoulders, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest like a caged butterfly. She was no stranger to muscles, but damn, Vegeta was in a category all of his own. Bodice ripper covers, eat your heart out. He felt hot, his body still radiating heat from his recent shower. She could feel every inch of his searing skin where it burnt against her own. He smelled like the sandalwood soap she had bought for him, and like himself, a unique masculine quality that she had grown achingly familiar with over their time together. The scent of it — of him — had remained on her sheets and lingered in her memory long after he had made her cum. Right here. With the same big, strong hands he was now holding her with.

And boy was she hoping for an encore.

Such thoughts were banished when Vegeta stared at her with hard, black eyes. His gaze pinned her, making her feel small and trapped, like a gazelle caught under the maw of a powerful predator. He sneered, displeased that she had doubted his strength. The arrogant curl of his lip _did things to her_ she wasn’t especially proud of.  

“I think I’ll survive.”

The smug sonovabitch.

Well, _he_ might survive, but her panties wouldn’t, not at this rate. 

“I suppose so,” she replied with a nervous laugh, her gut doing summersaults. “All these muscles aren’t just for show, huh?”

“Hardly.”

She wrapped her arms tighter abound his neck and sank into his support. If he was going to carry her like a princess, then she may as well enjoy the ride. 

“How long do you think you can hold me like this?” she asked, her fingers playing with the short tufts of hair at the back of his neck.

He huffed, still giving her the stink eye, but it didn’t have the effect he was probably hoping for. The more annoyed he grew, the cuter she found him. Once upon a short time ago, his sneers and sour temperament had intimidated her, for about a hot minute, but now she just found them — and him — endearing. Yep, her little crush was still in full effect. After all, it was easy to feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy towards a man who had given her the most amazing orgasm of her recent months, maybe even years, and who had been there for her like a knight in thread-bare armor when she had melted down on set. And now he had agreed to do porn with her. She was still riding that high and had hardly slept in days because of it. He could scoff and scowl and complain all he liked but it didn’t change the fact that he was willing to help her out. That had to mean something, right?

Damn, why did she always fall for these good-looking bad-boy types? 

When will you ever learn, Bulma Briefs.

“The old man said against the wall, right?” Vegeta asked, his gaze shifting to look behind her. 

Bulma blinked, taking a second to remember. “Um, yep. Against the wall.”

“Hn.”

Without warning, Vegeta changed his grip. His hands shifted, squeezing about her tiny waist, electric trails of fire left in the wake of his fingers’ on her bare skin. With one effortless motion, he hoisted her up until they were face to face. Bulma wrapped her legs around his hips without needing to be told. They fit together perfectly, interlacing as one. She felt so delicate in his arms, his brute strength causing something warm and submissive to bloom inside her. She tightened her hold about his neck, and hoped that he didn’t notice that her breathing had accelerated.

In three large strides, Vegeta walked them to the wall and pressed her against it, and Bulma suddenly learned a whole new appreciation for the expression “caught between a rock and a hard place”. He leaned into her, his hips crushing her legs wide open. Their faces mere inches apart, his brow looming over hers. Bulma knew she was in big, big trouble.

_Breathe, girl. Breathe._

“Like this?” he asked, his breath feathering over her lips. Holy shit, his voice was deep, huskier than usual, like gravel crunching underfoot. He stared her right in the eyes, unflinching, waiting for her reply. Though they both had their underwear on, Bulma felt completely _fucked_.

“Uh-huh,” she stuttered.

“Then it’s fine. I could do this for hours.”

H-hours? Oh, he meant hold her up. Right.

Get it together, girl.

His eyes trailed down, giving her a very thorough, unapologetic once-over. “What about you?” he asked.

“Wh-what? Me?”

“How long can you last?”

“Last?” she echoed weakly, her cheeks blushing. 

A hint of a smile played on his mouth. “How long can you hold on to me?”

Oh. 

“I… I don’t know.”

“Tch. I figured,” Vegeta said. “Given how weak you are.” 

She tensed, her eyes narrowing. “I am not weak.” She puffed up her chest in an assertion of her statement, her bound breasts rubbing against his pectorals.

He made a derisive sound and smirked with superiority. Leaning forward, he quickly put an end to her display of dominance, crushing the air from her lungs. His lower abs pressed into her pelvis and— please, please, please don’t let him notice how wet her panties were getting. 

“Bulma,” he whispered, his grin wolfish, his tone oddly affectionate. “You’re the tiniest, weakest person I know.” 

Dear god. Mercy.

“I’m strong where it counts,” she somehow replied, lifting her chin in an attempt to appear more collected than she felt.

Vegeta chuckled, the sound liquid aphrodisiac. “It’s not your brain that I’m concerned about. You said you wanted to be comfortable. Can you manage this position long enough to… to…” His words trailed off, and to her amazement, his cheeks reddened. 

Oh god, why was that so cute?

He could huff and puff all he wanted about his brute superiority, but when it came to anything the slightest bit sexual, he fell apart like a cheap sweat-shop toy. Bulma couldn’t help herself; the urge to poke at his embarrassment too strong. 

“To what?” she asked, curling her fingers at the back of his neck. “To cum? Or to be cummed in?”

His blush worsened, the red stain growing up his neck and ears. 

“ _Must_ you be so lewd?” he demanded, his face twisting into an embarrassed scowl.

She grinned. “It’s not lewd, it’s our job. That is what we’re doing, isn’t it?” she teased, tightening her thighs around his hips. 

He ignored her statement, trying to remain focused. “Can you hold on, or not?” he asked testily.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, dragging out her answer for as long as possible. “Well, let’s see… The wall _is_ a little hard. And we might be stuck like this for a while. They’ll need to do re-shoots. Change the camera angle. Stop us to give new directions… With all that in mind, I’m guessing this won’t be the most comfortable position to maintain.”

He grit his teeth, scowling more fiercely than before. “Is that all?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.

“Hey buddy, you asked for my opinion. I’m just trying to be practical.”

 “Tch. If you didn’t want to do this position, you should have just said so,” he grouched, stepping back from the wall, looking extremely put out.

Was he… upset? Had Vegeta actually been keen on fucking her against the wall, or was he just agitated that she hadn’t gone gaga over his strength more? Jeez, men and their fragile egos.

Bulma let her legs regretfully unwind and she stood on her own two feet. She kept her hands about his neck, and noticed that his remained on her waist, neither of them immediately pulling away. Vegeta’s dark, cat-like eyes watched her cautiously, his expression still miffed. What was going on behind those steely eyes, and why couldn’t he just come out and say it instead of leaving her to agonize about his motives? 

“The bed?” she suggested, giving a smile in the hopes it would encourage him to loosen up.

It didn’t. He stepped away, and the loss of contact was as startling as jumping into ice water. Her body yearned to press against his again. His residual heat was quickly evaporating from her, along with her confidence. Perhaps he felt similarly, because the tension was written as clear as day across his body. He eyed the bed the same wayhe might a snake pit.

Ah, the bed — that great white linen elephant-in-the-room. Getting on it meant practicing. Practicing meant fucking. Fucking meant crossing a line in their relationship that the two of them had only skirted until now. They stood at the bed’s fringes, neither taking the plunge, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Well, to hell with this stale mate.

“Top or bottom?” she asked decisively.

Vegeta gave her a dubious look, not understanding the question.

Bulma elaborated. “Do you want to be on the top or bottom for this?”

His jaw tightened. “On top,” he said, his tone laced with an unspoken ‘obviously’.

Bulma shrugged. “I could see you as a bottom.” 

The affronted look he gave her said otherwise. 

“What?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Not secure enough in your masculinity to let a woman go on top?” She placed a hand on her hip and shot him a sultry smile. “You didn’t seem to mind me being on top when I had your cock in my mouth.”

Vegeta spluttered in indignation. “Th-that… You… How is that being on top? You were on your knees!”

She grinned, not-so-secretly charmed by how flustered he was. “So? You were sitting and receiving. That counts as me being on top, buster.”

“This is a _ridiculous_ conversation,” he snapped, putting an end to the discussion by crossing his arms and refusing to look at her. His jaw worked furiously, his body so taut that he would snap at the lightest provocation. Or flee. Oops, that wouldn’t be good. Maybe she had gone too far with her teasing. 

_You’re not supposed to be getting under his skin so much as getting under him, genius._

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “I’ll bottom. Less work for me anyways. We can talk about power bottoms another time.” She winked at him before crawling onto the bed, ignoring her furiously beating heart as she got cozy on the sheets. Vegeta didn’t move, still scowling and standing rigidly from the end of the bed. Propping up on her elbows, Bulma made a come-hither gesture. 

“C’mon, big guy. I won’t bite. Unless you want me—”

Vegeta’s expression grew noticeably distressed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t joke.”

Oh. Wow, he was really nervous, huh. Rethinking her strategy, Bulma patted the bed and gave him a softer smile. “Okay, you got it. But you have to come here, you’re making me nervous standing there.”

He hesitated, but finally, reluctantly, uncrossed his arms. His limbs moved stiffly, like an old, weathered jacket needing to be shaken loose. Placing his fists on the mattress, he paused as if waiting for a trap to spring. Their eyes met, and she saw something revealed that he normally hid better: vulnerability.

Aw, honey.

Why did she always fall for these good-looking, broken types? 

Bulma lets her legs fall open, sliding them apart in a tempting V, and beckoned Vegeta to approach further with a curled index finger. “Don’t keep a lady waiting.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably before he crawled up the bed, taking the space between her legs. He braced his hands either side of her shoulders, almost as though he was about to do push-ups. Very pointedly not touching her. He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he tried. 

It struck her, a brutal, ego-crushing blow of realization. It hadn’t been vulnerability she had seen in him, but reluctance. He didn’t want to do this.

Something hopeful and girlish withered away inside her. 

Oh no… Oh god. Of course he didn’t want to do this. There had been so many signs he wasn’t interested in her, going all the way back to the very first night they had met and he turned her down, arms folded imperiously over his bouncer t-shirt.

Bulma placed her hands on his chest and tried to smile, though it felt pained to do so. His pectorals tensed under her touch.

“Hey… You know you don’t have to do this, right?” she told him sadly. 

His scowl intensified. She didn’t give him the opportunity to reply, words rushing out of her in mounting humiliation.

“Look, I… I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to fuck me.” It stung to think he wasn’t interested, obviously. What woman liked to be rejected? But Bulma understood that sexual preferences weren’t something you could reason with. If he wasn’t into her, then he wasn’t into her. Case closed. But worse was the idea that he might be trying to fuck her out of pity. Her inflated, glass-canon ego couldn’t handle that. 

“When did I say that?” Vegeta asked, his voice gruff with annoyance.

He didn’t have to. His body language spoke volumes. If he wanted her, he wouldn’t be so damn reluctant, would he? For heaven’s sake, he wouldn’t even engage her unless she took great pains to dig him out of his reclusive shell like some salty, obstinate oyster that refused to be shucked. 

“You can’t bring yourself to touch me,” she pointed out, her voice embarrassingly thick with emotion. She should have known better than to get her hopes up about this. Damn it, damn. Don’t cry, please don’t cry in front of him again.

“Bulma,” he growled, sounding at his wits end. He lowered to his forearms, and suddenly the burning heat of his body was pressed against hers once more, engulfing her like a warm blanket. It ignited a deep need to wrap herself up in him completely.

Something hard and thick nudged her inner thigh. 

Oh.

OH!

Bulma blushed with awareness. Her body awakened to his arousal like a flower unfurling to greet the sun. 

“I want to,” he said, his cheeks hot with admission.

“Oh… Okay then.” 

_Bulma Briefs, you’re fucked._

 

~xox~

 

Vegeta’s jaw ached from the pressure he was putting it under. His whole face burned and he _couldn’t get it to stop_. God, fucking… WHY couldn’t they have done this in the goddamn dark?! And how? How did he manage to constantly humiliate himself in front of this woman?

He exhaled through his nose, trying to dispel his mortification, still beside himself that he had needed to be so vulgar to drive home the point that YES, he wanted to fuck her. Of course he did. How the hell could she not see that? Bulma wasn’t usually this lacking in self-confidence, normally having it in fucking spades. Of all the goddamn times for her to doubt herself.

She watched him with blue-eyed amazement, her dazzling gaze skewering him as effectively as a spitted pig. Her fingers trailed up to his neck and tentatively stroked him, causing the little hairs on his nape to rise.

“Me too,” she admitted softly. Her smile returned, and Vegeta pretended his heart rate didn’t accelerate with it. “I want to as well.”

_Fuck me._

He swallowed thickly, his stomach churning and coiling far too tightly. Her words and adoring look weren’t helping his embarrassment, neither was his throbbing erection that rested heavily against her thigh. 

Fuck, do NOT focus on that. Think of something else, _anything else._

In a vain attempt at distraction, Vegeta fixated on her hair. The short tresses spilled about her pretty face, varying shades of blue shimmering in the sunlight. Her bangs were, as usual, falling over her eyes, so he pushed them aside, tucking the longer strands behind the small curve of her ear. Her hair was soft like down feathers, the tips still damp from her shower. 

Something sweet, like vanilla, flirted with his sense of smell. He frowned, perplexed by the source.

“What is that?” he asked.

Her brows rose up. “What’s what?”

“That smell.”

“Smell? Oh, kind of like cake?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “It’s my new conditioner.”

“You bought new conditioner?” He leaned in, pressing his nose to her temple and breathing in. She was right, her hair smelled like freshly baked goods.

“Yep.”

He pulled back to look at her face, incredulous. “You bought conditioner for porn?”

Her fingers flexed anxiously on his neck. “Not… exactly. I bought it yesterday.”

Vegeta frowned, confused. It made no sense. Buying beauty products was a luxury they couldn’t afford. And it wasn’t as if Bulma didn’t have several half-used bottles of hair products filling up the goddamn shelves in the bathroom. Why was she racking up stupid charges on her credit card? Who was she trying to impress? Had Eighteen said something to her about her hair? Had Goku?

“Do you like it?” she asked, her soft voice cutting through the rambling in his mind. She was looking up at him expectantly, and his stomach started twisting on itself again. He felt like a fly caught in a web made of nice smelling conditioner and heavy looks. 

“What difference does it make if I like it or not?” he grit out.

Her soft, bashful laugh brushed against his cheek. “I got it for you, dummy.”

“Me?” 

Him? …Why?

“Yep, since you like food so much, I thought it might make you feel, I don’t know, comfortable? And, um, I got something else too,” she added, her cheeks turning pink. She pulled her knees up, dragging her silken skin against his. A slow, playful smile curled her lips, sucker punching him in the belly. 

“You should take off my panties and see.”

_Holy_

_Shit._

Vegeta tried swallowing and found that he couldn’t. Take off her panties? N-now? Well, of fucking course they would need to come off if they were going to… _practice_. 

In despair, he glanced down to where her thin underwear were pressed against his swollen boxer-briefs. 

Goddamn it. This whole thing just got very real. It felt far more clinical and nerve-wracking than their previous experiences. There had been a sense of urgency and need the last two times which had helped kill his nerves. Now, he was left with too much time to dwell on his inadequacies, and worry if Bulma would be assessing his performance rather than enjoying it.

Okay, damnit. Stop overthinking things and just do it. A fuck’s a fuck. No big deal, right?

Vegeta sat up, in part to comply but mostly to create some distance so that he could breathe. Bulma’s hands fell away from his neck, drifting down to rest either side of her face on the pillow. She lay sprawled on the bed in flirtatious submission, as lovely as a painting, waiting for him to remove her panties.

 _Fuck_.

Her thighs were still wrapped around his hips. How was he supposed to undress her like that? Idiot woman. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, was she? 

He tapped her knee. “Legs.”

Bulma bit her lip at the command, obediently letting her legs part. He eased them to the side before looking at her pelvis and the flimsy material he was tasked with removing.

No more excuses. 

Vegeta took the corner of her blue underwear, thankful that his hands remained steady as he grazed her delicate hip bones, sliding her panties down. Bulma lifted her butt up to help.

It took only a second to discover her alluded-to secret. Where last he had seen her, she had worn soft, pretty blue hair — a tantalizing veil waiting to reveal its hidden prize. Now, she was totally entirely nude. 

He could see _everything_ : her soft plump lips, her tiny peaking clitoris, even a glistening on her naked folds.

Holy shit, she was already wet.

The sight left him gutted. Defenseless. Like a machine that had run out of power, he shut down.

“Like it?” she asked. 

Like it? He wanted to press his mouth to it and never come up for air. He tore his gaze from her smooth mound up to her face. Sapphire blue eyes pierced his own and jump-started his brain back into life.

“I bought this special cream on Eighteen’s recommendation,” Bulma rambled on. “It’s much cheaper than waxing. I thought, you know, it’s a cleaner look, and… Maybe you would like it?”

Vegeta struggled to think clearly. She had done this for him? 

“It was fine before,” he replied, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. Natural or clean-shaven, she was always a sight of wet-dream perfection. 

“…Oh.” Her reply was less than enthusiastic.

And it wasn’t the only thing gone tepid. The moment he finished pulling off her lingerie, Bulma pressed her thighs together and wrapped her arms about her middle, looking away, defensive.

Great. He fucked up, didn’t he?

Say something, you moron.

“So… This is why you took so long to get ready?” he asked.

Bulma gave him an incredulous look. He couldn’t blame her, he was mentally wincing at his own thoughtlessness too.

Say something _nice_ , for fuck’s sake!

He tried again. “It looks—” Incredibly soft. Delectable. The perfect canvas to cum on. “—good.”

Oh. Eloquent. Way to use your vocabulary, asshole.

For some reason that eluded him, Bulma was far more lenient. His pathetic choice of adjectives won him a forgiving smile. She pushed up onto her elbows, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Just good?”

Oh, she thought she was cute. “Don’t push your luck,” he growled, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Her toe poked his leg. “Mmm… Wanna feel?”

His words backed-up in his mouth so quickly he nearly choked on them.

She watched him struggle to speak, grinning, her perfect teeth revealed in silent laughter. “It’s very smooth,” she promised. “I bet it’ll feel nice on your cock.”

God-fucking- _damn_ her.

“Here,” she said, taking his hand and giving his arm a gentle tug, pulling him down, down, down like an anchor into unknown waters. Helplessly, he followed her until he was lying by her side, and damn, wasn’t this familiar? It was the same position from when he had first made her cum on his fingers. Had she intentionally placed them this way?

She drew his hand towards her belly, and his fingers ghosted over her soft skin. She was so soft. Air felt hard to come by, his chest tightening as he watched his hand creep towards her bare little V. Feather light, she brushed his finger against the soft fold of her lips, and let out a shivering sigh.

Oh god, she really did feel smooth. She was right, it would feel fucking amazing to rub his cock against her. He throbbed with the need to try it.

But he was powerless to do anything but obey, swallowing and allowing her to direct his hand and pet her up and down, the tip of his finger brushing against her wet dew. God, this shouldn’t be destroying him. This was what, the third time he had touched her here, yet it wasn’t getting old. Far from it.

She pushed his finger against her wet center and gasped. He met her eyes, and suddenly all his fears paled at the sight of her flushed, needy face. 

A powerful, relentless need filled him. He ached to make her feel good.

Right.

Fucking.

Now.

Moving closer to get a better angle, Vegeta gently pushed his finger inside, watching the way her eyes widened and her lips parted as he penetrated her. 

“Like this?” he asked, wanting to know the best way to please her. 

“Mm-hmm,” she moaned, clinging to his arm. She brought up her left hand and made a ‘come-here’ gesture. “Try this.”

He did. The reaction was instantaneous. She whimpered and arched back against the bed. Like a lion spotting the weakest in the herd, Vegeta dove in to give chase, repeating the gesture again and again until Bulma was putty in his hands. It was the greatest feeling in the world to do this to her. He was getting addicted.

“I thought we were here to fuck?” he teased, relishing the way she unravelled so quickly.

She blinked open cloudy eyes and looked at him, confused. “But… we are.”

His hand stopped, and he gave her a look just as baffled. “What?”

Her confusion rapidly turned to horror. “Oh my god, Vegeta. Please tell me you don’t just stick it in without preparing a lady?”

The chasm gaped open, splitting so wide they might as well have been standing on different planets. 

Where the fuck was Raditz when you needed him?

“Oh my god, Vegeta.”

“Tch. Just shut up and let me finger you.”

How long could it take?

 

~xox~

 

Her panting breaths mingled with the wet sounds of his fingers in her cunt. She was resplendent, whimpering and fisting the sheets as he worked her loose. There was just one problem.

After twenty minutes of doing this, his hand was fucking dying.

“Oh god, that’s so good, Vegeta. Please don’t stop. Just a few more minutes.”

“A few more _minutes_?!”

“Ng, please! H-have you _seen_ how big you are?”

“Jesus Christ, Bulma, I’m going to cause fucking long-term damage in my hand.”

“S-sorry I… I’m nervous and, ah—! I m-may have cum earlier.”

“You _what_! When?”

“I-in the bathroom. I wanted to be ready.”

“Then what the fuck am I crippling myself here for?!”

 

~xox~

 

The little blue condom foil lay opened on the bed next to them, a large ‘XL’ on the wrapping not having escaped his notice or his pride. Still, it didn’t stop his stomach fluttering as she placed the latex over him, rolling it down his length. 

He caught her hand in his.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised.

“…You need to leave more space at the end.”

“Oh.” 

She blushed, looking genuinely embarrassed. For the first time since he entered her room, he felt like he had the upper hand. Did his little Bulma not have much experience with condoms?

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. A rare gesture of consideration.

“Right,” she conceded, letting him take over. “We won’t be using one for the shoot anyways. The only thing we’ll need to worry about is where you’re going to cum on me. Or in me. Any preference?”

Well, fuck. It had been a nice moment of control while it lasted.

Ignoring her question for his own sanity, Vegeta pushed her legs aside and settled between them, looming over her tiny frame to give her his best no-nonsense face. 

“Worry about cumming now.” 

Bulma smiled coquettishly. His throat tightened and his heart bloomed. Fuck, she was pretty. Her slender fingers dragged him down, pulling him by the neck until their bodies were flush together. She was so small and soft under him, a delicate thing he was torn between wanting to protect and to ruin. She tipped the balance to the latter when she spread her legs and rubbed against his cock.

“Okay. Make me cum, Vegeta.”

Holy shit yes.

He moved his hips against hers, his heavy erection butting against her wet cunt. She let out a pleased sigh, enjoying the tease. He tried nudging in, but the angle wasn’t right. He reached between them to grab his cock and tried again.

To no avail.

“Everything okay, big guy?” she asked.

“Can’t…” he grunted. “Something’s not right.”

“Oh. More to the right… Your _right_ … Vegeta, do you need a road map for your dick?”

“I’M TRYING!”

She pushed him away just enough to grab his cock and reposition him. Holy shit. It should have been emasculating to have her help, but all he felt was a fountain of gratitude and affection. This was definitely going on his list of okays. With a look of flushed determination, Bulma tilted her hips and lined them up.

“Try that.”

He eased forward. There was a moment of exquisite resistance, her little hole hot and wet and struggling to take him. Then she gave way and he slipped in, like a blade into its sheath. 

Holy shit, he was _inside her_.

 

~xox~

 

Bulma gasped, her eyes going wide.

Holy shit. _He was inside her_. Oh god, oh god, she felt so full, her inner walls squeezing about his girth.

Vegeta’s eyes darted to her face, checking her as they connected, his hips pressed solidly against hers.

“…You okay?” he asked, his voice so deep it vibrated throughout her.

“Uh-huh,” she whispered, her left hand flexing on his bicep as she struggled to adjust around him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, wincing.

“N-no shit. Why do you think I had you finger me for so long?”

“…Right.”

His weight shifted, and he levered back down onto his forearms, close enough their noses kissed. His eyes watched her with a warm earnesty that made Bulma want to melt into the sheets. He brushed her bangs from her face, the gesture so sweet her heart ached.

“Bulma?”

“Mm?”

“You need to relax or this isn’t going to work.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “E-easier said than done.”

“I can wait.”

“Oh yeah, I bet it’s real comfortable for you. You’re not trying to relax with 9 inches up your hoo-ha and 200 pounds of muscle crushing you.”

“I do not weigh 200 hundred pounds.”

“Well it certainly feels like it.”

“That’s only because you’re so tiny and weak.”

“More like your head is.”

“Which one? The one that’s talking, or the one that’s buried in your cunt?”

Bulma laughed despite herself, and Vegeta gave her a rare smile. 

Damn him. He got her every time, surprising her with some crude comment as they huddled together on the couch, sharing instant noodles and warmth. She would choke on her broth from laughter and he would smirk in victory. She was starting to get used to him always being there for her whenever she felt her lowest.

Vegeta gave her sweaty bangs one last caress.

“That’s my girl. You ready? I’m going to fuck you now.”

_Oh my god._

She nodded, incapable of speaking.

He moved his hips, only pulling halfway out before giving an experimental thrust. She whimpered, the sound falling before she could stop it.

He paused, his eyes concerned.

“…Does it hurt?”

“No, no,” she gasped, grabbing his lower back and tugging on his body. “Just come up a bit higher.”

He repositioned like she asked, and gave another thrust, gentler this time, barely pulling out before nudging back in.

“Oooh that’s better,” she moaned, sinking into the bed.

“Just like that?” he confirmed as he rocked back and forth inside her.

“Uh-huh. Just like that.”

He moved inside her, slow and tender, taking it at her pace until she was entirely relaxed. He pressed inside her, balls deep, and Bulma wanted to cry for how good it felt.

“Harder?” he asked.

“God YES.”

He did as told, putting in more and more force until Bulma felt the need to grab onto the sheets above her head. Her breasts bounced roughly, his pelvis hitting her clit and making her gasp as he sank all the way inside her, over and over. Her breathing grew ragged, her veins filling with liquid fire. He was magnificent to behold; Staring at him was like watching a god, Adonis in the flesh. Vegeta’s muscles rippled hypnotically as he plowed into her. She tried to lock her legs about his hips, but he grabbed her thigh and pressed it to the bed.

“Cameras won’t see if you do that,” he chastised.

She could only moan as he spread her wider. It should have been shameful that she had forgotten the purpose of their practicing, but to hell with it. Vegeta was fucking her in just the right way. Cameras and porn and practice be damned. The only thing she cared about was that he continue.

He fucked her harder and harder, building up an impressive rhythm. The bed creaked, groaning under the abuse, and she with it.

“Fuck. You’re soaking wet,” he growled. Was he complaining or commenting? She couldn’t tell, and couldn’t take the risk that he might stop because of it. She wrapped her arms around his waist to hold him close.

“Don’t stop, please,” she sobbed in desperation.

“Spread them wider,” he demanded, pushing on her leg.

“I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

She obeyed, feeling so thoroughly lewd and used. He took full advantage of her splayed limbs, pushing them down to fuck her deeper until it felt like there wasn’t a part of her he hadn’t touched. He ravaged her with such terrifying force, but all she felt was the most incredible, tremendous swell of nearing gratification. They were breathing hard, their breaths as hot and humid as a summer storm. Droplets of his sweat ran down his skin and wet her own, marking her with his scent. And his eyes, as focused as hawk on a mouse, watched her every expression.

“Are you close?” he asked.

She nodded miserably, staring at him through wet lashes. “Uh-huh.”

He forced her legs wider still, pressing her knees up by her sides. He pounded her with his full strength, as fast and deep as possible.

“Vegeta!” she cried, his name spiraling in her head like a prayer.

“Hn?”

“V-Vegeta, I…” she gasped again, mindless with sensation, her fingernails dragging down his sides.

He pressed his face to her cheek, panting in her ear. “Yes, Bulma?”

Oh no, it was too perfect, too much.

Her fingernails dug in, latching into his flesh as she arched back and came.

She wailed at the ceiling, her inner walls squeezing helplessly around him as she came apart in a wet, defenseless mess. 

He bundled her up, holding her tight but carefully. He didn’t cease moving, thrusting against her until he groaned in her ear and tensed up. His hips slowed to a gentle rocking, before finally coming to a stop. His weight sagged against her, pressing her firmly to the bed.

They were spent, panting, and thoroughly exhausted. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her whole body tingling, throbbing, and floating on a warm cloud of rainbow dust.

Vegeta said nothing, still gasping hotly against her neck.

That… that was… 

It had been _amazing_. Perfect. Incredible sex—

No, incredible _practice_.

Oh, right.

It was just practice.

…Damn.

 

~xox~

 

His sides burned from where she had scratched him, his lungs aching for air. However, the pain paled next to the terror that was dawning on him.

“Vegeta. You’re crushing me,” Bulma gasped, gently pushing at his waist.

He grunted and attempted to ease the worst of his weight from her tiny frame, but he couldn’t get up, not yet. Not when his world was crumbling around him. Great cinder blocks of his life were crashing down, all to the tune of a woman’s soft, breathless pants.

To say the sex had been intense would be the understatement of his life. It was nothing like the few, quick passionless fucks he had experienced in his past from girls that hung around Frieza’s crew, eager to spread their legs to curry favor within the gang, or to rebel against disinterested boyfriends and strict fathers. The women had used him as much as he used them, and emotions had never been a factor in those exchanges.

Which is why he was so ill equipped to deal with… whatever the fuck he was dealing with now. His heart was rabbiting, and not just from the work-out the sex provided. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Bulma, because he didn’t trust himself to do so without somehow fucking this whole thing up.

How was he going to look her in the eyes after this, or go back to being just her roommate?

“Wow. I think they should be happy with that performance, don’t you?” she asked, gently stroking his damp shoulder-blades with her fingertips. 

He winced at her compliment. It sounded so much like a consolation prize, medicine he would rather choke on than swallow, a harsh reminder of the reason he was here between her thighs. Not for her, but for a paycheck.

“We should practice that again. You could take me from behind this time?”

He had to get up and leave before he really did suffocate. 

Pushing on arms that felt like jello, Vegeta sat up, avoiding looking at her. His softening cock slipped out, and he cupped his groin, getting off the bed.

“Where—” she started to ask. 

“Gonna clean up,” he announced, wanting to make a beeline for the door.

She stopped him, grabbing his arm before he could leave. His throat closed up as she pulled him into a hug, her body so soft and perfect against his.

“Don’t take too long,” she told him.

His heart burst, and he awkwardly hugged her back with one arm, his other still cupping his groin.

“I really enjoyed that,” she added, giving him a final squeeze. “This shoot is going to be so easy with you.”

He made a sound that he hoped passed as a reply, and she let him go. 

He headed to the bathroom, locking the door once inside. His ashen reflection stared back at him with judgmental eyes. He turned away from it and went to the toilet to clean up.

One more time. He was going to have to fuck her at least one more time. In front of people. On camera. This practice was supposed to assuage their fears before the big day. It had only awoken a whole Pandora’s box of unknowns within him.

There was no way he was going to get through this if he didn’t get a grip on himself. He respected Bulma too much to want to fuck up their friendship. Or maybe he was too cowardly to want to risk that friendship for something else.

Vegeta grimaced and peeled off his condom. He bundled it up, along with his feelings, and threw away both unwanted messes.

 

* * *

**~xoXox~**

 

 **AN:** beta-read by **Artephile/Marcella-Duchamp,** our resident Vegebul fanfic librarian and aficionado ~_^

 

DBZ owned by Akira Toriyama (although he would be sore pressed to recognize his work in this AU, lol). This AU is the sinful idea of **Stupidoomdoodles** and myself, **LadyVegeets**. Stupidoomdoodles (cartoonist, illustrator extraordinaire, and ideas woman) and LadyVegeets (writer, and ideas woman) can be found on **twitter** , **tumblr** and others. 

 

Please check out Stupidoomdoodles’ art for this fic too on such sites. We would love to hear your feedback. All sinners welcome ^_^


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